


For Science

by nightmares06, PL1



Series: Brothers Apart [16]
Category: Bowman of Wellwood, Supernatural
Genre: Borrowers - Freeform, G/T, Gen, Science, Size Difference, Sprite, Sprites, The Borrowers - Freeform, abducted children, abductions, forest, g/t adventure, g/t story, giant tiny - Freeform, scientist, the borrowers style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 154,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmares06/pseuds/nightmares06, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PL1/pseuds/PL1
Summary: On the heels of the Winchesters most troubling case yet comes a call. There's trouble in Wellwood forest, home of the peaceful wood sprites they'd befriended before. Parents have been waking up to find their children missing, and there's no trace of the culprit!Can Sam and Dean, with the help of one Bowman Leafwing and his best friend Jacob Andris, find the person abducting the children before anyone else goes missing?!
Series: Brothers Apart [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/167201
Comments: 156
Kudos: 142





	1. Green-Eyed Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is the sixteenth part of the **Brothers Apart** series, and the beginning of the third season.

**CHAPTER 1: Green-Eyed Nightmare**  
  
"Vel, it's time for bed," Nia said softly, standing in the partially slanted doorway of her young nestling's bedroom. He looked over at her in surprise from his intent work stacking small twigs and stones in some kind of structure. He had been so focused on his game that he hadn't noticed the waning sunlight as it trailed up his wall.  
  
"Okay, mama," Vel conceded with a grin. He got to his feet and flopped onto his bed, rolling over with a flutter of his wings. His mother giggled quietly as he wrestled with his blanket, trying to tuck himself in before her slow steps carried her to his bedside.  
  
"You missed a spot, love," Nia cooed, before drawing the cover up and over his head, obscuring his messy locks.  
  
"Mama!" the boy cried with a laugh, throwing the blanket off his head. "That's not how I sleep! I don't cover my head!"  
  
"Oh, is that so?!" Nia asked, looking thoroughly surprised.  
  
"Yes! Mama, you tucked me in last night and the night before and the night before! Don't you remember?" Vel was practically in a giggle fit over his mama's forgetfulness.  
  
Nia pretended to think hard while Vel covered his mouth and stifled more giggles. Then, her face brightened, earning an excited flutter from Vel's wings as he sat up with a grin. Nia sat on the edge of his bed and took the blanket in her hands delicately. "I think I know," she said softly. With that she wrapped a wing around him to draw him close and plant a kiss on his forehead.  
  
"That's right," Vel agreed as he lay back and snuggled into his pillow, even while Nia pulled the blanket over him. He giggled when she tickled the edge of his wing, and hastily tucked the limb closer to himself while the soft fabric settled over him. The sun continued to set outside, and Vel's eyelids grew heavy. There was a faint smile on his face when his mama began to hum a gentle tune. She brushed a hand over his head with a light touch and he nuzzled her palm as she stroked his cheek.  
  
The song was not very long. It didn't need to be. In minutes Vel's breathing evened out and he was asleep. Nia's humming tapered off and she exited the room quietly, almost as the last rays of sunlight did.  
  
She padded lightly into her own bedroom, where her mate waited. "Evening, love," Karlis greeted quietly as she joined him in their bed. "And how is our nestling?"  
  
"Dreaming," Nia answered, cuddling close to him. One of his strong leafy wings formed an extra blanket over the pair of them. Nia found herself humming quietly again while Karlis stroked her hair. She imagined that soon enough all of them would be dreaming pleasantly.  
  


* * *

  
Vel turned in his sleep as a chill raced up his spine. He dreamed up a strange, menacing voice that he didn’t like at all. It echoed around him and chanted nonsense words just beyond hearing. The boy uttered a low squeak as he opened bleary eyes, having trouble adjusting to the sight of his bedroom in the dark. With a groan, Vel rolled, hoping to fall back asleep to block out that strange, scary voice.  
  
He fell out of bed with a thump. Vel mumbled to himself, his hands groping around for the blanket he'd dragged along with him. He couldn't find it, and soon enough he had to clamp his eyes shut. There was suddenly a bright white light beating down on him.  
  
At first, Vel wondered if he was being visited by the Earth Spirit. Rischa had told him that was like being surrounded by all white while the Spirit's comforting presence filled the air. Then, he decided that wasn't right, because he saw the greyish color of the cold, hard surface beneath him, and he most certainly did not feel comforted. Beyond that, he could see very little as his eyes adjusted.  
  
"M-mama?" he tried weakly. "Daddy?" His little voice didn't travel far.  
  
Something rushed at Vel from the side. Before he could even turn his sluggish gaze in that direction, something settled on either side of his waist. Vel squealed in surprise and pain as the pressure increased until he was hopelessly and painfully stuck, though he scrabbled against the things even as they whisked him into the air.  
  
The rough texture was familiar...  
  
His wings fluttered fearfully and he whimpered when he realized he was caught in a pincer grip between a finger and a thumb, both larger and thicker than his body. Vel continued to kick his legs and flutter his wings after he stopped before a huge, unkind face. The hand that held him trapped didn't relent in the slightest despite his struggles. He sent the terrifying face a worried, begging glance.  
  
Those green eyes ... "D-Dean?" Vel stammered, tears coming to his eyes now. The face came into focus as the intense green eyes continued to look him over. Icy cold scrutiny practically raked over the young sprite's skin.  
  
It wasn't Dean. It _couldn't_ be. That much became clear quickly enough. Dean wouldn't hold him nearly squished like this. Dean was a _nice_ human. Dean had let Vel make him and his brother Sam his own big brothers. Dean had saved Vel from the stream with a big strong hand that never tried to trap him or hurt him.  
  
Dean _helped_ people. And Vel needed _help._   
  
"Please! H-help me! Someone please help!" Vel cried weakly, a shudder running through his still developing leafy wings.  
  
Would they know where he was? Dean had to find him! He had Sam to help him! If they could fight off wolves, they could do anything. "Let me go!" Vel couldn't tell if this giant even heard him. It made no indication as it kept looking at him, turning him this way and that.  
  
Vel squealed with shrill terror when another huge hand appeared and gripped one of his wings in a pinch much like the grasp around his middle. The boy wailed and his free wing shook with fear as his delicate wing was forced open. His face was glistening with tears as the hands so callously manipulated him. "M-mama ... daddy ... someone _help me please!_ " Vel cried, between desperate sobs. "Dean? Sam?" His voice petered out into a broken squeak. His heart pounded and he struggled uselessly against the impossibly huge hands that held him.  
  
The fingers around Vel’s waist relented, and Vel gasped. Flailing, he tried desperately to flap his wings hard enough to avoid plummeting to his death. He'd never flown before!  
  
He only dropped a few inches, less than a foot, before he landed in a heap on a gigantic palm. The breath was knocked from him and he quickly sat up, curling his legs close and wrapping his wings around himself for comfort.  
  
He'd been in another human's palm before. Dean had been careful and nice. Dean had made Vel feel safe, and the boy had even hidden underneath the huge hand without worry of danger. Now, he most assuredly did _not_ feel safe. He didn’t stop another sob, and the human ignored his plaintive wails.  
  
A self-satisfied chuckle rumbled through the air as the human moved. There was a clatter, more movement, and then Vel tumbled onto something hard.  
  
He looked back as the hand retreated from the cage and latched it up. Those icy green eyes leered at him, and he shook under the weight of that malicious smile. Where _was_ he?!  
  
_Sam and Dean ... Please come back and find me!_  
  


* * *

**SUPERNATURAL**

* * *

  
  
Jacob Andris followed a familiar path, well-worn boots brushing past ferns and rustling in the fallen leaves and grass that carpeted the forest floor. The sun shone brightly through any gap in the canopy it could find. The light guided him ever onward on his trek, a journey he’d made countless times before.  
  
Every chance he got, he made his way to the forest, no matter that it was a long drive. Sometimes, it was almost like the trees themselves welcomed him back.  
  
A strong sense of direction kept him on track even when he didn’t fully recognize his surroundings. As he delved deeper into the woods, Jacob took note of every leaf that rustled in the wind.  
  
Just in case it turned out to be more than a leaf.  
  
He never visited only for the camping and the scenery. Deep in the forest, beyond a fence bedecked in thick vines and bright yellow **KEEP OUT** signs, lay a secret. Jacob had only uncovered it two years prior, but it drew him back again and again.  
  
He was back once more to visit the tiny wood sprites that called the forest home. He kept his eyes on the branches above, watching for signs of his friend flitting among them.  
  
Bowman Leafwing, a patrolsprite of only four inches tall, had “discovered” Jacob in the forest back then. At the time, it was hard to tell which of them was more surprised by the other’s size. Jacob, for finding a winged man no larger than a finger, or Bowman, who'd never seen a giant before.  
  
Their differences didn’t matter much. When another human had come to the forest aiming to harm the sprites, Bowman and Jacob had teamed up to stop him. It nearly cost them both their lives, but it gained them a friendship. The village was safe, and Jacob would help Bowman keep it that way. He owed the little guy his life.  
  
As he drew nearer to the village, it became stranger and stranger that Bowman had yet to appear.  
  
Bowman cherished every chance he had to fly. The role of a patrolsprite took him far and wide over the forest, keeping watch for dangers. Usually, he found Jacob long before the enormous human could reach the village.  
  
Today, Jacob passed by a clearing that the sprites had dubbed “his” after his frequent visits, and he’d still seen no sign of Bowman or _any_ patrolsprite.  
  
He frowned. Something wasn’t right. Even if Bowman was patrolling in the other direction, _someone_ would have happened by. Other patrolsprites made their rounds amongst the trees, keeping vigil for predators or any other sign of danger to the village. So far, Jacob saw no fluttering wings or curious faces peeking at him from behind branches. He picked up the pace, heading towards the village on long strides.  
  
The stream burbled somewhere near. Jacob used the rushing sound of water to find the place, and soon he saw it up ahead. The village of Wellwood, nestled at the very heart of the forest.  
  
A cluster of pine trees swayed in a faint breeze, dark green needles rattling and rasping against each other. Tiny staircases wound in elegant spirals around their trunks as if trees were meant to grow that way. On each branch, the cozy, rounded shape of a sprite home swayed in time with the breeze. The sprites cared for the trees and made their homes in them. They always had.  
  
Near one end of the village stood a tall cottonwood tree. The fork of its proud, pale branches housed an even bigger sprite dwelling, and Jacob knew the passages wended all through the trunk. There was no one on its wide balcony.  
  
He paused. Normally, the village would thrive at this time of day. The sun shone on a clearing across from the cottonwood, a circle ringed by stalwart oaks.  
  
Sprites _should_ be flitting to and fro in that light, letting their wings soak up the warmth. The proud, ancient tree in the middle of the clearing _should_ have several sprites crowding its platforms to rest. It didn’t.  
  
The ground in front of the pines was clear. The stream winding near the outskirts of the village rushed onward, and no sprites were out doing their washing.  
  
Wellwood had fallen still.  
  
Jacob stood for a moment longer, staring around. He noticed with a jolt that he was being watched. Sprite faces peered out the windows of the little houses on every home tree. Curious and friendly like they’d always been, Jacob had expected them to come and greet him far before he came so close.  
  
They were scared. Something had them all hiding away.  
  
“Jacob!” a familiar voice cried out at last. He looked to the cottonwood, and some of the tension growing between his shoulder blades released.  
  
Bowman stood on the front balcony of the cottonwood’s palatial center. A large knot formed a doorway in, and more wood sprites filtered out, their leafy wings twitching nervously. They all looked exhausted. Bowman, too.  
  
“Bowman,” Jacob greeted, unsure. “What--”  
  
The four-inch-tall sprite fluttered his powerful green wings and took to the air, interrupting. Jacob remained rooted and watched as he glided over. To his relief, Bowman didn’t look injured as he banked in a circle around him by way of greeting.  
  
Jacob held out a hand in front once Bowman looped back around, and Bowman landed on his palm without hesitation. Up close, he looked even more harried.  
  
“I _thought_ I heard a giant wandering up,” Bowman said, stretching his wings out before folding them to his back. His voice was joking, but his bright green eyes didn’t quite match the tone.  
  
“Yeah,” Jacob answered, his brow pinching. “Bowman, what’s going on? Why’s everyone hiding inside in the middle of the day?” _Was I_ that _loud walking up?_  
  
Bowman couldn’t hide his worry. His feet shifted on Jacob’s palm, green boots barely leaving an impression. He shot a glance over his shoulder at the village, quiet and stifled. Jacob saw the concern in every one of Bowman’s few inches.  
  
“I woulda come to check your clearing,” Bowman finally said, staring up at Jacob’s face. “I _said_ you’d be able to help if you came.”  
  
Jacob nodded, the seriousness sinking in with every distracted word his friend uttered. Bowman usually got straight to the point.  
  
“Stay with me, buddy,” Jacob encouraged before Bowman could ramble more. He curled his thumb and brushed it against Bowman’s wing. The wing twitched, and Bowman shot him an offended glare. “Start at the beginning for me. I’ll do whatever I can but you gotta keep me up to speed, dude.”  
  
Bowman rolled his eyes. Jacob saw some of the familiar sass back in the sprite’s posture. “Yeah, I’ll keep up the speed,” he groused, mincing the phrase like he often did. Still the same Bowman.  
  
With Jacob’s expectant look egging him on, Bowman began. “It’s just … many many days ago, maybe even a full moon cycle, a nestling disappeared.”  
  
Jacob’s brow furrowed. His mind brought up memories of young wood sprites leaping around in the grass to test their wings. Gathering pine needles in their tiny little arms, or helping their mamas by the stream. Grinning at him in awe and giggling when they got to ride on his hand.  
  
Bowman went on. “At first, we thought maybe an animal … that he wandered off, y’know? But then days later …”  
  
“Another one,” Jacob filled in. “How many since it started?”  
  
Bowman’s wings were agitated. “Four,” he grit out. “Even one of the wraiths went missing.”  
  
Jacob’s eyebrows shot up. Wraith sprites, lost and unsafe in their old home, had come to Wellwood as refugees. They lived among the wood sprites, learning a different way of life far away from humans. Jacob rarely saw them when they first moved to the village, and he still didn’t see them too often. He was getting used to them as much as they were to him.  
  
They were strange little beings in a lot of ways, from their quiet, knowing stares to their colorful quills on their backs, but they were harmless. Like their wood sprite cousins, they had lost one of their precious children.  
  
Jacob glanced towards the home tree with the newest dwellings on it. Pale little faces peeked out at him, a contrast to the darker skin of the wood sprites. “Four nestlings,” he echoed, already unsure of how he’d help.  
  
“The most recent was today,” Bowman said. His wings were tense now, as if he was ready to burst with his growing worry. “In bright daylight, right in front of her mama. She just _vanished,_ Jacob.”  
  
This time, there was something like pain in Bowman’s voice. His home had come under attack far too many times for one sprite to have to deal with. Jacob lifted him to eye level. “I’m gonna help,” he promised. “I dunno how yet, but I’m gonna help.”  
  
Bowman sighed and his wings flared open briefly. “We’ve been talking in the cottonwood,” he said, nodding towards the large tree where other sprites still watched Jacob cautiously. “I told ‘em you’d want to help.”  
  
Jacob glanced towards the tree once. Among the sprites watching there, one stood out more. He was missing a wing, a remnant of an injury from the first time Jacob had ever come to Wellwood. He hadn’t been able to prevent some of the pain that visited the innocent sprites then, but he was going to do his best to be there for them this time.  
  
He glanced back to Bowman, who waited on his palm. “Y’know, Bowman, I think the more help we can bring in, the better,” he admitted. “It sounds a lot like some kind of bad magic, like when you were telling me about … that lich thing.”  
  
Bowman perked up, and Jacob saw understanding in those green eyes. Bowman might not know how a lot of “human stuff” worked, but he was a smart little guy. “Dean and Sam,” he said.  
  
Jacob nodded. “Dean and Sam,” he agreed. “I’m betting they can weigh in on this, too.”  
  
Bowman sighed. The tension in his shoulders didn’t lessen, but the resolve in his face became easier to see. He had a goal, something to _do_ to help the missing children. “Right, they knew a lot about bad magic,” he said. Then, without waiting for another word, he turned away and his wings opened up. Graceful as a leaf on a breeze, Bowman dove off Jacob’s hand and glided towards one of the home trees.  
  
While Bowman was away, Jacob inched towards the cottonwood tree. Some of the sprites there leaned away from his approach, ever wary and awed by his size. Jacob _had_ grown even larger since the first time many of them saw him (something Bowman might never let him live down).  
  
“Um, Lord Cerul, sir,” Jacob greeted haltingly, fixing his eyes on the one-winged sprite. If Wellwood had a leader, this sprite was it. “I heard what happened. I’m going to do what I can to help. Did you, uh. Notice anything when the nestlings vanished?”  
  
Eyes the color of tarnished gold stared up at him steadily. Cerul shook his head and sighed. “Nothing,” he admitted, and Jacob was surprised. Cerul was one of two wood sprites that Jacob knew with an ability they called the Voice. He would be the most likely to have felt magic closing in on the village.  
  
Jacob’s mouth twisted in a frown, but then he turned to look back towards Bowman’s home tree. “Well … we’ll find something to help us know what to look for. I’m going to call Dean and Sam Winchester back to Wellwood, too.”  
  
Bowman was already dragging something out of his front door, the gleaming white of a business card visible from several feet away. Cerul nodded absently. “Thank you, Jacob,” he said. Bowman took flight as they watched. “We’ve been at a loss so far. The mothers … they can’t tell me anything but their own anguish.”  
  
Jacob clenched his jaw and held a hand out for Bowman again as he approached. _We’ll find them. There has to be some kind of sign left over._  
  
“Here’s the card,” Bowman announced as he landed.  
  
Jacob glanced over the information printed on the card while he dug his cell phone from his pocket. On any other day, he might have joked about the dark green ink Bowman had used to cross out the name **John Bonham** printed on the card and scripted in **Dean and Sam Winchester** instead.  
  
Today, he didn’t have time to joke around. He typed out the phone number with a thumb and pressed **Call**.  
  
Wellwood needed all the allies it could find.


	2. Hitting the Road

Dean and Sam stood solemnly in front of the burning pyre, watching the flames darted up into the air. Sam, sitting on Dean’s shoulder, his regular spot, watched carefully for any sparks thrown from the fire. He was ready to dive out of the way if he had to, though Dean stood far enough back to avoid most of the heat.  
  
Neither brother spoke a word, simply staring into the burning wood placed around the wrapped body of their father. John Winchester, though he had his flaws, meant the world to both boys. Losing him, it felt like they’d lost an anchor on the way things should be. The way they were _meant_ to be.  
  
The world had grown a little colder, the night a little darker.  
  
Sam put a hand on Dean’s neck, seeking reassurance and offering it in return. They still had each other. Sam knew that they’d be okay, if they could just get through it _together._  
  
The sound of Dean’s ringtone cut through the air, as loud as a siren in the silent gathering. Dean couldn’t hold in a jump, Sam holding tight to his collar to avoid tumbling off. Not many things caught the hunter off guard like that. He had an excuse this time; his mind was far away.  
  
Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, the one he’d inherited from John, Dean pulled out his phone. He shot a look over his shoulder at Bobby and Walt-- Walt actually standing on Bobby’s shoulder, another one of the shocks this case had brought them-- and then down at the phone as he strode farther away from the others.  
  
 **Jacob** was lit up on the screen in bold letters, and a bolt of worry hit Dean as he held up the phone, hitting speaker so Sam would be able to listen in and talk. Jacob was one of the few other people they knew who dealt with people smaller than him on a regular basis, being good friends with Bowman Leafwing, a wood sprite that was Sam’s height.  
  
“Hey, Jacob,” Dean greeted, his voice gruffer than normal from the emotions he held bottled up. “Can’t say you caught us at a good time…”  
  
"Ah," Jacob replied, his voice briefly laced with static. Out in the forest, his phone had to work hard to keep a good enough signal. He was lucky to have any service at all.  
  
Dean's greeting, almost growled over the phone, caught him off guard, as evidenced by the pause that drew out over a second. A breeze in the distant forest sent the brothers the sound of leaves rustling, a snippet of an idyllic place that knew them.  
  
That _needed_ them now.  
  
Jacob recovered. "Right, uh, sorry," he muttered. There wasn't much else he could say without prying into the brothers' business, so he let it be in the hopes that they'd still be able to help sometime soon.  
  
"Well, I'm in Wellwood, and I remember last time we talked you said to give you a ring if there was trouble here. I'm ... a little out of my depth with this one, thought I'd get a second opinion..."  
  
A rustle of wings followed Jacob's halting explanation, and shortly after another familiar voice crackled out of the phone. "Sam? Dean?" Bowman asked, as dubious as ever about the phone actually working.  
  
Sam inched his way until he was almost leaning off of Dean’s shoulder, prompting his older brother to instantly lift up his other hand so Sam could be closer to the phone. Sam took the invitation, crouching down in the palm of Dean’s hand as it leveled out next to the one that was cupped around the mobile phone.  
  
“Good to hear you’re okay, Bowman,” Sam called out, his lighter voice carrying over the line back to the sprite. It sounded like some things never changed. “Fill us in on what’s going on, and we’ll see what we can do.”  
  
“Right,” Dean chimed in, albeit more reluctant to Sam, part of him held back by the fire crackling merrily to the side, a dissonance with the reason they were out there.  
  
There was a sigh, a quiet one, on the other line. It had to have come from Bowman, perched close to Jacob's phone so he could be part of the somber conversation. They had no way of knowing what they had interrupted, and took no notice of Dean's tone.  
  
"Something's been ... We don't really know," the sprite admitted. One could almost feel the agitation in his voice, the inability to do anything. "Nestlings are going _missing_ and we can't _find_ them no matter where we look."  
  
Jacob's deep voice, calm but hasty, chimed in almost before Bowman was done speaking. "Bowman says the most recent was just today, a girl vanished right in front of her mom ... it sounds like magic, but I don't know the first thing about scoping that out."  
  
"Magic, yeah," Bowman said distractedly. His wings rustled. "First it was Vel, a month ago, and since then three more nestlings are gone."  
  
“Vel’s missing?” Any resistance Dean had to the phone call evaporated, all his complaints scattered to the wind. He could remember that kid like it had just happened yesterday-- Vel hiding with Sam underneath Dean’s cupped hand, standing proud on his shoulder with Sam as a chaperone, and the crowning moment where Vel had claimed them both as his big brothers.   
  
Vel was an honorary Winchester, and now he was missing.  
  
Sam was thinking along the same lines, his grip on Dean’s finger tightening infinitesimally. “Four children missing in a month?” he repeated. He looked up at Dean, and they shared a knowing glance. Four children missing in the same fashion in a year was enough to draw them in for a case; four in a _month_ , and every red flag possible was up. “Look, we can get there in…” He did some rapid calculations in his head  
  
“Twelve hours,” Dean supplied, taking over. Though Sam had spent his years as a child poring over the maps in the car and had caught up on that as soon as they were reunited, Dean simply had more experience with road trips. “Ten if we push it.”  
  
There was no way he _wasn’t_ going to push it.  
  
“We can be there by morning,” Dean finished, watching the way the sun dipped towards the horizon, almost touching. “Think you can meet us somewhere?” He wasn’t about to try navigating the forest without a guide. Half of his trip last time, he’d been affected by the lich and delirious. The second half, Bowman led the way.  
  
There was a pause while Jacob considered his answer, and another rustle of wings as Bowman, restless as ever, left it to the humans to plan. He wasn't going too far from the village now, not in its time of need. They had to stay close to keep watch over the other nestlings and try to keep them safe.  
  
"There's a motel in town," Jacob said, remembering. "I can just grab a room there for tonight, we'll meet there when you roll in and then come out to the woods. Sound like a plan?"  
  
“Sounds like a plan,” Dean confirmed with a quick glance at Sam for his nod of affirmation. “Send a text when you’ve got a room, we’ll set up our base of operations there in case we’re around for longer than a few days.”  
  
“Since you’re so great at camping,” Sam said under his breath with a grin, getting Dean to nudge him with one of the fingers spaced around where he crouched. Raising his voice, Sam finished off the call. “Bowman, don’t worry, we’ll be there soon and we’ll figure this out. Just hang on.”  
  
Dean hit the **END** button on his phone, severing the connection. Once more, the brothers shared a look, both disturbed by this turn of events.  
  


* * *

  
Far away in the woods, Jacob shot a similar worried glance to Bowman. The sprite banked back towards him as he stowed his phone away in his pocket once more, and Jacob offered him a hand again. Bowman landed, but there was a springiness in his steps. Restless. He was way too restless.  
  
"They're on the way, Bowman," Jacob assured him. "You said it yourself, they've got that fast car to get around, it's no problem to get here."  
  
Bowman's wings twitched. "I _know_ they'll make it," he mumbled. He paced away from Jacob, perching on his fingertips to survey the village. It was so still and quiet, all afraid of losing another child. "I just wish there was more we could do _before_ then."  
  
"No one knows what's happening, but I'm gonna guess those guys will be able to find out," Jacob said, curling a thumb to nudge Bowman's wing again. The little guy was protective of his wings to a fault, but Jacob had gotten away with touching them many times, both for teasing and support. This time, it was his own way of patting Bowman on the back. "Remember how you said they put together what the lich was doing? This is what they do."  
  
Bowman sighed and turned to shove Jacob's thumb away. "Alright, yes," he groused. "Blasted giant, quit poking me."  
  
Leafy wings fluttered to life again and Bowman hovered above Jacob's eye level. "Tomorrow morning I will fly farther to meet you when you're all coming back," he determined. "Today I'm staying here--" his gaze drifted to the tree where he lived-- "with my family."  
  
Jacob nodded. "I'll be back before you know it, buddy."  
  


* * *

  
Stowing the phone in his pocket, Dean let out a heavy sigh. “Never a dull moment,” he quipped, his voice falling flat.  
  
Knowing Dean was _trying,_ at least, Sam offered him a warm smile. “They’re counting on us,” he said, beginning his climb back to the shoulder. Dean remained still, allowing Sam to get there on his own and settle before turning away from the dismal pyre. During the call with Jacob and Bowman, the flames had died down, leaving a bed of burning embers.  
  
Walt and Bobby were waiting for them back away from the fire, distant enough that they hadn’t heard any of the phone call. Dean imagined that the curiosity on Bobby’s face, tempered by long years of working with privacy-obsessed hunters, matched the curiosity on Walt’s. He had no intention of keeping the reason for the call a secret, though.  
  
“There’s a case,” Dean started right off, the urgency to get to the Wellwood coming through in his voice. The sprites were harmless, completely innocent, and Jacob stood as one of the only lines of defense they had out there. As much as Dean appreciated having another human to help protect the smaller folk, the kid was still just a kid, and hardly equipped to handle a case like this on his own. “I need to hit the road now, think you can finish this up?”  
  
Making the call to leave before the fire finished for their father was hard, but lives were at stake. John Winchester would expect no less out of his two sons, raised to hunt from a young age.  
  
Bobby stared at him, his piercing blue eyes looking right into Dean’s soul. Or that’s what it felt like. It seemed like a lifetime before he nodded his acceptance. “Don’t forget to write.”  
  
The embrace was short but heartfelt between them. Dean was stiff, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Bobby. In his ear, he could hear Sam and Walt talking amongst themselves over the gulf that stretched between them.  
  
“Be careful out there,” came Walt’s soft voice.  
  
“We will,” Sam promised.  
  
The hug between the hunters ended, and Dean did his best to offer the small man a gesture of camaraderie, not easily accomplished. He nudged the man in the shoulder and received a slap against his finger in return. It took Dean a second to realize Walt wasn’t trying to chase him off like Sam might, but was doing what he could to reciprocate. A smile worked its way onto Dean’s face at the gesture.  
  
“What’s the case?” Bobby asked.  
  
Not wanting to go into the nitty-gritty details, Dean shortened the explanation. “SOS from a friend. Sounds like some serious trouble hit Wellwood since we were there, but they don’t know what’s causing it. It’s time to hit the road. I’ll text you if we need help.”  
  
“Let us know if you find out anything about Celeste!” Sam called out from Dean’s shoulder, leaning forward so he could catch Bobby’s eye past his brother’s neck.  
  
“Or whatever else that blonde bitch is calling herself,” Dean fumed.  
  
Bobby nodded solemnly. “Will do.”  
  
It felt like no time at all before they were in the car. Dean found himself holding tight to the steering wheel, so tight that his knuckles turned white. It wasn’t until he felt Sam lean back against his neck, the smallest sensation that reminded him he wasn’t in this alone, that he could bring himself to insert the key into the ignition. One way or the other, something had changed that day when John Winchester sacrificed himself for the others. There was a hole in Dean’s chest that he just couldn’t fill.  
  
They left Bobby Singer’s house behind, full of new tenants and their small family. They would be safe with Bobby and Rumsfeld; of that much, both brothers were certain. Whatever path the littles chose, it would be their own and not dictated to them by anyone else. As for Sam and Dean--  
  
There was work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks right up from where we left off in Brothers Apart last in the last chapter of Bittersweet Parting. The funeral has only just finished when it's time to hit the road to help Wellwood, something that Bowman and Jacob don't know about.
> 
> **Next:** June 10th, 2020 at 9pm.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	3. An Awkward Meeting

**CHAPTER 3: An Awkward Meeting**  
  
The road trip went long into the night, the miles falling away beneath the Impala’s willing tires.  
  
Sam found himself sitting at attention on Dean’s shoulder, unable to relax while the thought of Vel in danger besieged him. There would be no pocket naps on this trip. That sprite kid had looked up to them both, and they weren’t there to help him when he needed it most. Sam could only pray they weren’t too late to help him out of whatever situation he’d fallen into.  
  
After a few failed attempts to make conversation, Sam fell into a topic that had been bothering him. “So, pretty wild what we found out about Walt, right?”  
  
Dean stiffened for a moment, but had no excuse to back out of talking this time, having spent most of the night fending off Sam’s questions. “What, that curse stuff Celeste said?” He frowned, remembering the sight of Sam and Walt both covered by an iridescent black spiderweb, threads that twined around their very souls, according to Nixie.  
  
Sam tried to relax a hair. “If what she says is true… then there never _were_ any people that should be this size. They’re all just victims like me. Walt’s parents were just like you, once upon a time.”  
  
“Until they were taken as children and cursed,” Dean finished the thought. His frown deepened into a scowl. “We’ll find a way to stop her, Sammy. Whatever it takes. She’s not gonna keep taking children like that, if it’s the last thing I do.”  
  
Sam patted Dean’s neck next to him. “I’ll be right there with you, the entire way.”  
  


* * *

  
In the end, the road trip lasted until eight in the morning the next day. After pushing himself to the brink, Dean found Sam harassing him to take a nap at three, refusing to relent until Dean pulled the car off the road. Bedding down in the front seat wasn’t the most comfortable way to sleep, but it gave him some much-needed energy to finish the trip with.  
  
There wasn’t much chance Dean would have the time to enjoy the comforts of a motel room bed, considering the dire circumstances.  
  
“Got the room number?” Dean asked Sam, who was down on the seat next to him, messing with the phone. Jacob’s text had come in, spelling out the room he was in and what car to look for.  
  
“Room one-oh-four,” Sam called up, pushing the phone aside.  
  
Dean eyed up the parking lot, spotting the Mercury Cougar parked out front the designated place. “This has to be it,” he said, holding out a hand for Sam.  
  
Sam jumped on, letting Dean lift him up to the chest pocket of his shirt. The strong hand cupping around him tilted, and Sam slid right in. Until they were all hidden away in the room, he had to stay out of sight, as per usual.  
  
“I wonder what he’s like,” Sam said before he dropped out of sight and let the pocket flap fall over him. Despite the urgency of their case, he was intrigued to meet Bowman’s longtime friend, a human adjusted to interacting with people a fraction of his height much like Dean.  
  
Opening the door, Dean swung his legs out of the car. “Only one way to find out, pint-size,” he said fondly, glad his brother would be able to meet another human who was ‘safe.’  
  
Squaring off outside the door Jacob had pointed out in his text, Dean lifted up his hand and knocked.  
  


* * *

  
After making sure Bowman and the other sprites wouldn't try anything reckless in their search for the missing nestlings, Jacob made the trek back to his car with an unfamiliar urgency in his steps. Coming to Wellwood usually offered him a relaxing time away from the world. This time, all thoughts of a carefree visit had left before he even found the village.  
  
It was a good thing Dean and Sam had answered. Jacob wanted to help, but he was out of his depth.  
  
Getting a room in the small town's one motel had been an easy affair. Jacob stood tall, even at just under nineteen years old. The only weird looks he'd gotten from the clerk were for his height, and not his age. Never his age.  
  
When the knock came at the door at last, Jacob glanced up from where he sat at the table. He was running on only a few hours of fretful sleep, worry for the small sprites on his mind. Even so, as he rose to his feet, Jacob braced himself to meet Sam and Dean Winchester, and couldn't help but remember the clerk's wary glances.  
  
He'd gotten used to it. Most people didn't reach his lofty 6'5" height, and Jacob had a feeling the Winchesters had never once been warned while Bowman griped at them.  
  
He crossed to the door and his thoughts took a turn for the curious. Sam Winchester was supposed to be _sprite-sized,_ according to Bowman, but otherwise looked like a human. People like him lived in secrecy all over the place. Despite the dire situation, Jacob was intrigued by the brothers and eager to meet them in person at last.  
  
He didn't bother ducking to check the view hole in room 104's well-worn door. No one else would come knocking at this hour. A large hand closed on the doorknob and swung the portal open. _Here goes._  
  
He was greeted by the sight of a man in a leather jacket and jeans, hair in a casual spike and fierce green eyes. It had to be the very same Dean Winchester he'd talked to the day before.  
  
Jacob could have sworn he saw a quick motion on Dean's chest, ducking out of sight near the pocket there. _Holy shit,_ he briefly thought, and willed himself not to glance directly at the pocket. Bowman had mentioned that if Sam wasn't on a shoulder, he rode in a pocket. Either Jacob had tricked his own eyes, or someone was hiding there even now.  
  
Offering Dean a sheepish grin, Jacob held out a hand. "Hey, you must be Dean," he greeted. "Jacob Andris, good to finally meet you in person."  
  
Dean stiffened as the door swung open, catching sight of a huge shadow lurking beyond. Sam, who was curiously pushing up on the pocket flap and couldn’t wait to meet Jacob, caught sight of the kid standing in the threshold, light spilling over shoulders broader than Dean’s, and instinctively ducked out of sight.  
  
That was all Dean had time to realize before Jacob was introducing himself, and Dean couldn’t contain a glare at the way the kid had startled Sam back into hiding, during one of the only times Sam was willing to peek out while they were outside. After Bowman’s stories about Jacob and how much the teenager hung out with the Wellwood sprites, the last thing Dean had expected was someone _taller than him._  
  
By a good few inches, too. From the look of things, Jacob might actually be taller than Sam if they stood side-by-side at the same scale. Dean’s memory of that fateful night almost a year ago had faded somewhat, but the sight of his younger brother standing taller than anyone he knew would always stick with him.   
  
As Dean held out a hand in turn, he could already feel Sam shifting in the pocket, likely rethinking his duck out of sight. They both knew he was safe with Dean, and intellectually knew Jacob was vouched for by Bowman, but still. Seeing someone that towered over _him,_ Dean couldn’t blame his little brother.  
  
“That’s right, I’m Dean,” he replied, keeping his eyes trained on Jacob’s as he entered the room.   
  
Sam sheepishly pushed up the pocket flap, his ears red with embarrassment as he started to climb up to Dean’s shoulder, trying his best to make up for hiding from Jacob. It was a good instinct to have, but inconvenient when he wanted to make a good impression.  
  
“And I’m Sam!” he chimed in as soon as he reached Dean’s shoulder and saw Dean release Jacob’s hand. He held out his own hand to offer a handshake, continuing to blush fiercely. “We… talked. A few times,” he finished lamely.  
  
Despite being the tallest in the room, Jacob was just as overwhelmed by Sam and Dean as they were by him. Possibly more so. There were a lot of things for him to pay attention to, even as he made sure the door was closed and locked.  
  
Dean's glare wasn't lost on him. Jacob tried harder to exude his usual calm, easygoing manner. It was his only strategy when dealing with people wary of his size. Dean wasn't small by any measure, but the tiny figure that had climbed to his shoulder _was,_ and Jacob understood where the wariness came from.  
  
With Sam out in the open, Jacob knew he hadn't imagined what he saw before. The little guy was real, and he was sprite-sized just like Bowman said.  
  
And he was offering a handshake. Jacob tore his focus from Dean's intensity to give Sam a smile instead. "Yeah," he affirmed. "Glad to meet you, too, Sam."  
  
The words were easy. A handshake with someone so small wouldn't be so simple, especially with Dean _right there_ glaring at him. Jacob had tried explain handshakes to Bowman and the sprites before, but he'd never met someone their size who just _knew_ what the gesture meant. He lifted a hand and paused for an instant, wondering if Dean would allow him any closer to his little brother.  
  
 _Can't leave him hanging._ Jacob reached towards Sam at a gentle pace, giving him a chance to wave Jacob off if he wanted to.  
  
When that didn't happen, a faint sense of pride filled his chest and Jacob was determined not to mess up the greeting. His finger and thumb settled around Sam's tiny hand with care, years of practice handling smaller people coming to light as he did so. Sam's arm partially disappeared in his grip for a short moment, but was never in danger of damage.  
  
With the handshake completed, Jacob withdrew his hand to avoid crowding Sam or the man whose shoulder he sat upon. "Real glad you could make it, guys."  
  
  
“Anytime,” Dean said, gruffly stepping past Jacob as he made his way deeper into the room.  
  
Sam had to turn in place to keep Jacob in sight with Dean’s abrupt (likely rude) movements, wanting to keep an eye on the new human around. The prickle of a new gaze on him was easy to ignore now, and held no threat in that undeniably accurate way his knack worked. Sam was glad their first face-to-face meeting had gone so smooth, despite his instinctive duck out of sight. He was hopeful he’d be able to add Jacob to his very limited list of friends, and glad to meet someone else who’d been to Wellwood.  
  
“Can’t believe Bowman gave me so many problems over _my_ height,” Dean griped, holding up a hand for Sam when he reached the table. Knowing to pick his battles, Sam let himself be lowered to the surface, effectively freeing Dean. At least on the table he could check things out for himself and not be dragged along wherever Dean felt like going while he was in this mood.  
  
Dean immediately dropped down, pawing through the condiments in the kitchenette on a single-minded quest. “Is there any coffee? I haven’t had a drop since we started out, and I gotta tell ya, driving through the night is _not_ my favorite way to spend time.”  
  
“You do it all the time,” Sam said, faintly scolding his older brother.  
  
Dean glanced up briefly, scowling at Sam. “You know, I _could_ just hoard the coffee for myself,” he complained.  
  
“Sure Dean, whatever you say.”  
  
Jacob paused, caught in the wake of the whirlwind that was Dean's entrance into the room. The brusque answer caught him off guard, but it was nothing he couldn't bounce back from. Jacob dealt with all kinds of people in the same way.  
  
He shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, a garment he was rarely seen without. It didn't make him look any smaller (a losing battle), but it gave him a more easygoing demeanor. Up against personalities like Dean's, it was simpler to just roll with it.  
  
Besides, he _had_ called the guy from whatever business he was on before.  
  
"Take as much as you need," he remembered to say. He wandered closer to the table, and ended up sitting at the foot of one of the motel room beds. It kept him out of the way in case Dean needed to storm past in his mission for coffee.  
  
"Bowman'll find a reason to give anyone grief," he added. It felt like trying to inject himself into a conversation that didn't include him, after how fluidly Sam and Dean handed banter back and forth. They were a seamless team. "It's been three years since I met him and he hasn't run out of stuff to say so far."  
  
“Sounds like Bowman,” Sam said, wandering closer to the side where Dean was crouched down, rifling through the condiments until he shot up, triumphant with a package of coffee to make. Sam didn’t flinch back from the quick, massive movements, or feel the slightest worry over the annoyed look Dean shot him. He knew to wait Dean out. His older brother would run out of steam eventually.  
  
Waiting Dean out was going to take energy, though, so Sam sat down on the collection of motel paperwork, the welcome folder and a series of take-out menus for the area. It was slightly more comfortable than sitting on the surface.  
  
“Don’t forget the sugar this time!” Sam called as Dean set up the coffee maker and started it up. He got another annoyed glance, but only moments later, the container of sugars and creamers was set down next to him.  
  
“For you to _ruin_ your coffee with again,” Dean muttered as he finally took a seat close to Sam, still on edge.  
  
“It’s not like we’re sharing,” Sam said, letting Dean’s annoyed manner slide right off him. He doubted Jacob (or anyone else, really) was ready to deal with Dean in this mood, leaving Sam the only one who could handle the older hunter.  
  
Sam turned to Jacob, now that Dean was staying in one place, and mostly paying attention. “How much do you know?” he asked with concern.  
  
Jacob decided to focus mostly on Sam, since Dean was stuck in his need for coffee while it brewed. He sighed and shook his head. "Not much. I didn't stay there for very long after I called you guys up," he admitted. Not that the sprites had much more information.  
  
"When I walked up, all the patrolsprites were back at the village and everyone was hiding inside because a girl had _just_ disappeared right in front of her mom. They were trying to figure out what to do." As he spoke, his voice kept low for Sam's benefit. He couldn't help but remember the look on Bowman's face when he spotted him on the balcony.  
  
"I know Bowman's pretty freaked out about it. I think he was hoping he'd be able to find the kids out in the woods somewhere, but they haven't had any luck."  
  
Sam folded his hands together. “ _Sounds_ like teleportation,” he said, glancing over at Dean and sharing a long look. Dean understood, his mouth tightening. Turning his attention back to Jacob, Sam expounded, “There’s people out there,” _like my adopted dad,_ “who can use a variety of different abilities. We’ve had personal experience with a few-- telekinesis, the ability to hide in shadows, the ability to _know_ when someone’s looking.” Sam left out that _he_ was the one that had that ability. “Could be that one of those people is out there sizing up the sprites.”  
  
“That Cas guy could teleport, couldn’t he?” Dean interrupted, breaking Sam’s train of thought.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “So could Celeste,” he pointed out dryly, remembering the way she’d vanished from the room without a trace-- every time they’d run into her. “We don’t even know what they _are,_ so that doesn’t do us any good.”  
  
Dean pursed his lips, but this time he looked more thoughtful than antagonistic.   
  
“The _point_ is,” Sam said firmly, going on, “we have to check the place out, and see where the kids have vanished from. There’s a chance the magic left a mark, and if it did, we might have ways of tracking it, or luring out the culprit.”  
  
Jacob just barely resisted letting his eyes glaze over as Sam and Dean talked. Their ideas, passed back and forth as easily as their banter from moments before, went right over his head. The names _Cas_ and _Celeste_ didn't mean anything to him.  
  
Knowing there were people out there who could do all sorts of unexplained things was less of a surprise. Jacob had met several sprites, of two different varieties, and was aware of magic. He even remembered most of the details of the Winchesters' last case in Wellwood, as told by Bowman.  
  
Zombie wolves. Undead sorcerers. Now, some kind of magic stealing away tiny, winged kids. _Holy shit._  
  
"Y-yeah, of course," he answered with an emphatic nod. He might not keep up with their expertise, but he'd help however he could, even if it only meant acting as a guide. "They, um. Cerul said he didn't _feel_ anything when it happened, so whatever magic's happening isn't anything like what the sprites use."  
  
“That’s not too surprising,” Sam said, effortlessly deflecting the question. “In fact, their kind of magic is unique as far as we’ve seen. Even the other sprites we ran into operated differently, with chants instead of prayers.” He’d questioned Bowman deeply about the Prayers they used, fascinated to see it in action. A similar effect was achieved on Dean as Nixie had done for Sam, only it took longer to take effect and was far less traumatizing.  
  
Sam had to _drown_ for Nixie’s healing to reach its full power.  
  
“We’ll figure this out, Jacob, okay?” Sam offered him a gentle smile, an odd sight. A man who could almost be missed in the room because of how small he was, reassuring the biggest person they’d ever met, and more muscular than Dean.  
  
Jacob smiled back. Sam's reassurance appeared to work; those broad shoulders relaxed a hair. The teen sat up straighter, glancing at the coffee machine. Nearly ready.  
  
"Thanks," he replied. For all his size, Jacob was the least prepared to help with something like this. He was a great line of defense against a run-of-the-mill human stumbling into the woods. In that case, he'd only need to chase someone off and the sprites would be safe. Against whatever was taking the sprite children, he was helpless.  
  
"I'll do whatever I can to help. I owe these guys."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first meeting between Jacob and Dean is going _fabulously,_ isn't it?
> 
> Sam, make sure your brother doesn't try to bite at the person helping, kay?
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** June 14th, 2020 at 9pm.


	4. A Delicate Balance

The coffee maker went off with a cheery ding that stood out against the somber mood that had fallen over the three in the room.  
  
Dean didn’t bother getting out of his chair to get the coffee. He merely leaned back, precariously balanced for a few long seconds while he stretched his arm to snag the coffee pot. Sam found himself holding his breath until the chair legs thudded to the ground. He might not get hurt if Dean tumbled over, but it would be like living through an earthquake with his older brother as the epicenter.  
  
“I have been waiting all morning for you,” Dean swore as a black waterfall cascaded out of the coffee pot and into his mug. “Nectar of the gods.”  
  
A gust of the coffee aroma hit Sam where he sat, and he waved at Dean. “Hey! I think you’re forgetting something!”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes with a good-natured grin, beginning to perk up with his goal in sight. “I _suppose_ you can have a drop. Just this once. You _did_ keep me company on the drive, between naps.”  
  
“Whatever.” Sam remained focused. He held up his hands, beckoning for the bottlecap he knew Dean had squirreled away in one of his multitude of pockets.  
  
Despite his gripes, Dean had the bottlecap full and steaming as he lowered it next to his little brother. “Bitch,” he said, the edgy tone of voice he’d had since the hunter’s funeral the night before softening a little.  
  
“Jerk.” Sam wasted no time working open one of the cups of creamer, bracing it in place between his crossed legs and careful to avoid spilling a drop and ruining his pants. Normally he worried about waste, but with these little cups, he’d seen humans go through them carelessly. Since Dean didn’t put anything in his coffee, Sam figured he could just pretend he was using Dean’s share of things. He poured in the cream to turn the coffee a milky brown, then added a packet of sugar.  
  
Perfect.  
  
Cupping the drink with a makeshift drinking mug made of aluminum foil, retrieved from his satchel, Sam glanced over at Jacob. “We were talking things over on the ride here,” he said while he waited for it to cool a little more, the scorching heat harsher against him compared to Jacob or Dean. “There’s a chance all the kids that vanished are still okay.”  
  
“Depends on the person who took them, and _why,_ ” Dean mumbled around a swig of coffee, the complete opposite of Sam. His cup was already half empty, and he was eyeing up the remains in the coffee pot.  
  
Jacob winced. He hadn't wanted to consider the possibility that the kids _weren't_ okay. He, like Bowman and the other sprites in Wellwood, wanted them all to be found hale and hearty. Maybe frightened or confused, but something they could recover from. A loss after all the worry for them would deal the village a devastating blow.  
  
"I only ever knew one guy who almost took sprites away from there, and he was just a crazy dude with a gun and a bunch of dumb ideas," he admitted.  
  
Even the lich hadn't come to Wellwood intending to take sprites away. It wanted to find them and use up their unique magic before leaving them behind.  
  
“I think Bowman mentioned him when we were here before,” Sam admitted, eyes flicking up to Dean as he sipped at his coffee. “The second anyone heard Dean was a hunter was the first time we got suspicion in the village. It almost felt like we’d _deceived_ them, when really, it just hadn’t come up. There were bigger fish to fry.”  
  
“No self-respecting hunter would be caught threatening _innocents_ like that,” Dean growled, finishing off his cup and pouring another. “And anyone we’ve worked with would fix that line of thought, right quick.” Bobby, John and Rufus all flashed through his mind. They’d fight to the last breath protecting the innocent. Sam’s people, the various sprites they’d found… none of them deserved death.  
  
Of course, that also led him down the path to the _others_ they’d dealt with. Bela. Gordon. Celeste, who made sport of children.  
  
“No one’s messin’ with them while _I’m_ around,” Dean declared, standing up and tossing down the rest of his coffee. “We’re getting to the bottom of this.”  
  
Another urgency made itself known, and he waved at Jacob and Sam, stalking out of the room. “After a trip to the little boy’s room.”  
  
Jacob smirked, but only for an instant, as Dean walked off. After his mood earlier, he didn't want to push any buttons, but the sudden determination was refreshing at least. For a moment, Jacob had felt like he was on some kind of probation.  
  
Now, Dean had walked off and left Jacob and Sam on their own to wait. Only for a few minutes, but it was a show of trust that Jacob didn't intend to waste.  
  
"Y'know, Sam, I think some of the little kids in the village still remember the last time you guys visited," he pointed out. "I think you left a mark on 'em."  
  
There was still some lingering redness on Sam’s ears from his earlier blush as he adjusted to Jacob’s gaze. He felt no danger in it, and knew that Dean wouldn’t have left him alone if Jacob wasn’t safe. No matter how ornery his older brother could get, the man could read people with the best of them. He’d never leave his vulnerable little brother in an unsafe situation.  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked wistfully. He could remember the three that had ventured outside to see the visitors, all without their mother's permission. Vel, Tenner and Nanya, along with Rischa while she was recovering from healing Dean. “I, uh, happened to have some chocolate in my bag when we ran into them. Was saving it to throw at Dean if I had to wake him up. They couldn’t get enough of it.” He smiled at one last memory. “We left Vel with his own M&M before we had to leave the forest.”  
  
Jacob's grin widened at the thought of tiny sprite nestlings with their own feast of chocolate to themselves. "Oh yeah, I bet they _loved_ that." Not a lot of heavily processed sugar made its way that deep into the woods, so of _course_ the chocolate would have been a hit. It was too bad Sam had only been able to come to Wellwood so far when there was some big emergency.  
  
"I never thought to bring them anything like that," he admitted with a smirk. "I didn't actually get to see the village until after you guys were here. Maybe I shoulda gone with candy instead of trail mix."  
  
“Maybe next time,” Sam offered as he listened close to the bathroom, hearing the faucet running. “Once this is all done with.”  
  
Dean strolled out of the bathroom alcove, brushing his hands through his hair and sending droplets of water flying through the air. He was much more composed now, as recovered as he was going to get after a night of driving and no time for a good night’s rest. His spike of hair was refreshed, and face scrubbed to take away the remnants of a long day and night before. The coffee was working, his gaze more alert as he stood next to the table.  
  
Standing, Sam straightened his satchel and jacket, preparing himself to leave. He’d refreshed himself in the car while Dean was catching a nap, using the privacy of his panic room and the tunnel underneath the car to take care of business with the car motionless. Plus, he could hang his legs off the edge of the tunnel, where it opened to the ground, and get some fresh air before the ride began again.  
  
Dean dropped a hand to the table, fingers idly pressing into the nicked wood surface. “I think it’s time to head there and check things out,” he decided.  
  
Sam cast a glance over his shoulder at Jacob as he darted towards the hand Dean had left resting on the table for him. After so long spent with Dean, it was easy to recognize an “all aboard!” gesture. Hitching up his satchel, Sam bounded onto the back of Dean’s hand and began to scale up the muscular arm, taking advantage of handholds in the fabric that neither human could see.  
  
Jacob's response didn't come right away. Instead, his eyes followed Sam's motions. The tiny hands and boots found purchase right on Dean's sleeve, effortlessly carrying him towards a higher perch. Sam hadn't even said anything, and barely needed time to prepare for the vertical trek. He just climbed up with all the ease of a spider.  
  
It was hard to tear his awed gaze away. Jacob knew he was staring, and even then he didn't stop until Sam was close to Dean's shoulder.  
  
He was too accustomed to the sprites. Wood sprites were nimble flyers, and Bowman showed off that fact whenever he could. Jacob had seen countless aerial maneuvers as the sprite showed off his skills with those leafy wings. Bowman's _climbing_ skills were almost nonexistent by comparison. He never would have been able to scale up a vertical surface like Sam was doing.  
  
Tearing his gaze away at last, Jacob sheepishly stood. "Right," he muttered. Standing put him above Sam's eye level again, and above Dean's by a few inches. "Wanna just follow my car there, or carpool?"  
  
Dean glared, and this time it had everything to do with the way he had to look _up_ at Jacob. He just couldn’t win with his height. First he didn’t reach his dad’s height when he was growing (a painful recollection that Dean ruthlessly sealed off the second it resurfaced), and now he was working with a kid who could loom over both Winchesters effortlessly. If Sam stood on Dean’s head as straight as he could manage, they _might_ reach Jacob’s height.  
  
“You’re giving everyone your pissy face,” Sam said under his breath, just loud enough for Dean to make out the words. He was still glowing from the awe he’d received from Jacob, able to feel the teenager’s eyes on him every step of the way while he climbed. Sam was proud of himself for impressing the tallest person around. He didn't want Dean scaring off Jacob.  
  
Dean ignored Sam and stalked past Jacob. “We’re taking the Impala!” he said in annoyance. “I know the way.”  
  
"... Alright," Jacob replied. Dean's actions caught him off guard a second time, blowing past him in his haste. He was glad Dean was so determined to get right to helping the sprites, and chose to think nothing of the attitude he was getting. Bowman _had_ mentioned that Dean was an intense human, Jacob just hadn’t realized _how_ intense.  
  
At his size, Jacob wasn't used to being intimidated, but he could look past it.  
  
When the door opened, Jacob sent a startled glance to where Sam had perched on Dean's shoulder. He found nothing. Jacob was caught off guard enough that he almost didn't notice the little guy hiding himself with Dean's collar; he wouldn't have noticed him at all if he didn't know he was there.  
  
Locking up the door, he could finally take a look at the _Impala_ Dean insisted on driving out to the forest. His eyebrows lifted appreciatively. Jacob's worn-but-reliable Mercury paled in comparison to the well-cared-for machine parked next to it. The cars might be nearly the same size, but they were far from the same class.  
  
Black and chrome shone in the morning light, drawing the eye. "It's a nice car," he pointed out, his tone casual but a small part of him hoping it might mollify the elder Winchester brother.  
  
“That car is my _life,_ ” Dean said testily, already at the car. “Pride and joy. Inherited her from our dad when I turned sixteen.”  
  
Sam remained against Dean’s shoulder until his older brother was in the driver’s side, and had leaned across the bench seat to pop the locks for Jacob. It was rare the Impala had any passengers beyond Sam, and he didn’t need any extra space for himself. Because of this, Dean had to clear away a collection of maps he’d accrued before getting a smartphone at Sam’s behest.   
  
If it was up to Dean, they’d still be roughing it with the Atlas collection and every map they could glean from the Welcome Center into each state.  
  
Not that Sam _minded_ the days he acted as navigator. Times when Dean needed both hands on the wheel and both eyes on the road, like the time they drove straight through a thunderstorm in their hurry to get to a new case. Lightning crackling on the horizon and thunder shaking his bones, Sam’s eyes were able to make out the maps in the darkness and guide Dean to a safe place to stop when it got too dangerous to push their luck.  
  
As though they had any luck to push.  
  
Once Dean straightened, Sam did so as well, having chosen his seat well. The ‘shotgun’ shoulder, putting him between Dean and where Jacob would sit, giving him the ability to participate in any conversation.  
  
Jacob didn't have any follow up. The snipped answer told him loud and clear that talking about the car was off the list, so he simply waited for the door to unlock so he could get in himself. His car would wait, loyal as ever, in front of the room until whenever he made it back.  
  
Soon after stepping into the car and closing the door with a slam, he realized that he didn't have quite as much room as he usually did in his own car. He wasn't crushed by any means, but his knees were cramped. He glanced around at the seat as they all got settled.  
  
It was a bench seat. Jacob wasn’t moving unless Dean moved with him. _I'll just leave that as it is, then,_ he told himself.  
  
Jacob couldn't help a few glances around the interior of the car as he settled in his seat. He barely resisted the urge to self-consciously hunch down to make himself appear smaller; that never worked for him. Instead, he took in the view of the car Bowman had first been kidnapped in, and been so fascinated by.  
  
With a rev of the engine, the Impala pulled out of the lot and started one of the most awkward rides she’d ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's walking a fine line between grumpy Dean and helpful Jacob.
> 
> Can't Sam just make a new friend without Dean turning all bitchy?!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** June 17th, 2020 at 9pm.


	5. A Reunion of Friends

The only one in the car that wasn’t influenced by the dreary mood that had fallen over Dean was Sam.  
  
Though his heart ached for the loss of their father just as much as Dean’s, Sam had learned to section off that part of him. Instead of letting it consume him, he worked hard to keep his unhappiness to himself and outwardly project a normal countenance.  
  
Most of this he had learned when his adopted mother, Mallory, was killed two years back. So while Dean’s defensive mechanism had him lashing out at anyone who tried to get close, Sam’s had him trying to keep the peace and avoid scaring Jacob off.  
  
After a few failed attempts to engage Dean in banter that came close to getting him shrugged off at times, Sam decided to try his luck with Jacob and count his lucky stars that the ride was half done, if he remembered the surrounding area well enough.  
  
“So,” he started, pulling himself up so he was sitting straight and could see over Dean’s collar to Jacob, “is Bowman meeting us in the forest? Or will we see him when we get to Wellwood?”  
  
For a short moment, Jacob didn't realize the small voice was directed at him. The brothers had their own rapport, but he was still an outsider among them. He glanced away from the view out the window to find a tiny expectant look aimed his way, and his eyebrows went up.  
  
"Oh, uh, no, he's not gonna be near the edge," he replied, catching up to what Sam had asked.  
  
"He told me he'd check near my ... near the clearing where I usually stay when I visit," he continued, angling himself to see Sam better. "But if he's not there, I know the way on to the village. They're all keeping pretty close after yesterday."  
  
Sam nodded understandingly. He knew how it felt to stick to the paths and tunnels he knew and stay away from the unknown or any dangers that were spotted nearby. Most of his time as a teenager and young adult was spent like that in _Trails West,_ adapting to life in the walls. If anyone who stayed at the motel looked like a hunter or stank of Pest Control, they’d often evacuate the closest homes.  
  
Those were some of the only times growing up that he’d met the people that lived on the opposite end of the motel. Walt knew them all, having helped the majority of them move in, but they were only acquaintances, not friends. Krissy’s family was the closest Walt and Mallory had to friends.   
  
It was hard to imagine the Wellwood, such a peaceful, idyllic place, going through such a harsh time. The sprites didn’t deserve such uncertainty and fear, and Sam was determined they would help fix it. He knew Dean was just as determined, no matter _how_ grumpy he was acting. Beneath the rough, spiky demeanor, there was a heart of gold hiding.  
  
It was just hiding a little better than normal, and who could blame it?  
  
“We’re going to get to the bottom of this, as fast as we can,” Sam said, his voice echoing his determination. “The sprites helped us when we needed it most,” the image of Dean, black spidering veins running up his arms, rose to mind, “and we’ll do the same.”  
  
Jacob nodded in full agreement. He owed the sprites just as much gratitude, especially Bowman. If not for them, Jacob wouldn't even be alive. The old wound on his chest had stopped aching long ago, but it had nearly killed him. Bowman himself had led the effort to keep Jacob alive long enough for him to make it to a hospital.  
  
It was lucky he could be around to call for Sam and Dean's aid. There was no telling how long the trouble could have gone on before Sam and Dean realized and made it to the forest. If they ever did.  
  
"Yeah," Jacob muttered, glancing out the front windshield. He was patient by nature, but eager to reach their destination. "We'll find 'em."  
  
The trip went on with a less awkward air surrounding the group. Sam's demeanor contrasted with Dean's like night with day, yet they were both ready to help. Jacob heaved a sigh of relief when the road into the outskirts of the forest, the vast and well-preserved Wellwood, came into view.  
  
 _Hope you're ready for a hike,_ he wanted to say. He only barely remembered to keep it to himself as the Impala finally settled into a pull off parking area.  
  
With the car parked in the deserted pull-off area, a place that must once have been used for camping before the official lot opened up, Dean judged it safe to leave her. The Impala had been fine during their last trip to Wellwood, never receiving a ticket while they were out in the forest tracking wolves, so he could hope it would be the same this time.  
  
Climbing out, Dean went straight to the trunk to get his duffel bag. It was already packed and prepared before they left for the forest. Dean had stocked up on his usual, along with Sam’s granola bars. He wasn’t the most adept camper, but it would get him through the night if they had to stay out in the forest.  
  
“Could you pack any heavier?” Sam complained as Dean slung his duffel over his left shoulder, rocking Sam’s seat with the sway from the heft. The weapons clattered inside, a variety so they would be prepared for whatever they found.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude, you have just as much as I do. It’s not my fault your share happens to weigh almost nothing.” He leaned over, snatching up the EMF meter. “Just in case,” he said, stowing it in a pocket on the duffel. There was always the chance they could pick up a trace of the magic with the EMF the same way they picked up vengeful spirits with it. It all depended on the _type_ of magic.  
  
“Good idea,” Sam commented as Dean swung around towards Jacob.  
  
“Lead the way, tiny,” Dean said pointedly, though most of the venom was gone from his voice. The nickname fell flat on the air, lacking Dean’s regular attitude when he was sassing his friends.  
  
Jacob's eyes left Dean's duffel bag to meet his eyes for a brief second. "You got it," he answered, turning away from the car and towards the welcoming forest. The nickname rolled off of him like all the varied jabs at his size he'd gotten in his life. Soon enough they'd be around a wood sprite who called him _blasted giant_ half the time as though it were his second name.  
  
He almost wished he'd wandered back to see what was in the trunk of the car while Dean was gathering his things. The clattering inside that bag was _suspect_ to say the least.  
  
"It's about half an hour to the fence from here," he warned over his shoulder. At least Dean had brought something along. Jacob had a small canteen in his pocket; he hadn't thought to grab his backpack with other supplies back in the motel room.  
  
At least he could get water. Jacob was used to roughing it out here. Sam and Dean probably weren't.  
  
He spared the canopy more than a few glances as he led the way through the trees. If Bowman changed his mind about staying closer to home, he'd be hiding among the leaves up there. Flying closer to where humans might be walking around was a huge risk.  
  
“This ain’t our first rodeo,” Dean said, unable to hide his slight defensiveness as he fell in line behind Jacob.  
  
The path was easier to pick out while he was behind the tall-- _overly_ tall teenager, but Dean was ill-adjusted to following someone else’s lead. After so many years both on his own or teamed up with his pint-sized brother, he’d grown accustomed to taking charge. Even when Sam was calling the shots, Dean lead the way because of his brother’s slight _size deficiency,_ as Dean had named it one time.  
  
The energy from the two cups of coffee helped Dean keep up with Jacob, the caffeine buzz driving his footsteps despite the fact that he hadn’t slept for more than two hours in over a day. It would run out eventually, but for now he followed with dogged determination, his steps carefully placed in the underbrush to avoid the stones and hidden pitfalls Bowman had warned them of during their last trip. The last thing anyone needed was Sam being bucked from Dean’s shoulder by a stumble.  
  
For himself, Sam enjoyed the fresh air and journey into the forest with his unflagging optimism for the case they were on. They were going to find the sprite children, and that was it. No one was better suited to tracking than Dean Winchester. He might not be much of a camper, but when it came to the hunt, he was uncanny with both picking up hidden trails and hiding his own.  
  
“There’s a familiar sight,” Sam said, spotting the glint of metal between the trees. Dean said nothing. Though he recalled the fence from the trip out of the forest, the trip towards the village was vague and fuzzy, the poison of the lich silently overcoming it and causing the hunter to take leave of his senses, and memories.  
  
Sam's voice was quiet enough that the surrounding ambience of the forest nearly snatched it away if Jacob wasn't paying attention. He glanced back. The sight of Sam sitting casually on Dean's shoulder was less jarring out in the woods. Out here, Jacob was used to seeing people that small.  
  
The fence that wended between the forest almost completely circled the heart of Wellwood, and it had done so for decades. The bright yellow signs posted on it kept most people out, and the few that did venture past it knew what they were doing.  
  
Jacob trudged towards one of the worn, rusty gates in the metallic wall, glad the fence existed. It kept the sprites just a little safer from humans, tucked away so far that they hardly noticed the world outside the forest.  
  
He wanted to do what he could to keep that peaceful simplicity intact.  
  
"It isn't much farther," he muttered, leading the way through the gate for Sam and Dean. The words were as much for himself as for the brothers; the pressure in the air from Dean's look was all but tangible. He half expected to find holes burned right into his jacket when the trip was all over. He hadn't gotten off to a good start with the guy.  
  
 _Didn't have a good first impression on Bowman, either,_ he reminded himself.  
  
At length, Jacob's glances to the canopy finally yielded a result. He stopped, recognizing an area very close to his clearing, and didn't hold back a smile.  
  
A streak of green separated from the leaves up above. It fluttered down towards the three, coming to a graceful stop on an outstretched branch just above Jacob's eye level. Bowman stood proudly with his hands on his hips and one little eyebrow raised.  
  
" _One_ giant walking in the woods makes a racket, but _two_ is almost enough to chase even the clouds away," he groused, though there was a smirk in his eyes.  
  
“We’ve already been over my ‘stalking’ skills, haven’t we?” Dean asked sternly, the glint in his eyes belying the serious tone he’d taken. He cracked the first grin he’d had that day, glad to see their old friend, hale and hearty despite the trials of the last few weeks. Sam and Dean had very few people they’d consider friends, and Bowman was one of the exceptions who knew-- and associated equally-- with both brothers. “Good to see ya, small fry.”  
  
Sam waved from his perch, his grin matching Dean’s. “Careful or you’ll end up pocketed again!” he warned jokingly, remembering how pissy Bowman had been after Dean buttoned them both in.  
  
As anyone could have predicted, Bowman's wings flared partially open and he shot the brothers an accusing glare. Jacob didn't bother hiding his own grin. Bowman was easy to rile, and apparently the Winchesters had learned that last time they came to Wellwood. It was like riding a bicycle.  
  
"I thought you didn't mind pockets," Jacob prodded. In the wake of the last case, he'd been the one to bear the brunt of Bowman's rants against 'pocket time.' He _hadn't_ heard anything about stalking, and wondered if he'd be able to coax that story out sometime.  
  
Bowman flicked his wings at Jacob and shot him a pointed glare, and then stepped forward off his branch. With casual skill, he swept his wings open so he could glide to hover between the two larger humans, regarding Sam and Dean.  
  
"I _guess_ I should say welcome back," he greeted. "Glad you could make it so fast."  
  
Sam smiled. He couldn’t pat Bowman on the back from where he was sitting, confined to Dean’s shoulder for the time they were hiking, but he could offer reassurance in other ways. “Of course. We’re always ready to come when you need help.”  
  
“But _seriously,_ ” Dean complained, still stuck on the height thing. “You gave _me_ problems about my height when you’ve got this Sasquatch around?” He jabbed a thumb at Jacob. “He’s taller than Sam!”  
  
Jacob frowned skeptically, but resisted the urge to say what immediately came to mind. Of course he was taller than Sam. Aside from being taller than most people, he had a significantly unfair advantage over the sprite-sized guy.  
  
To his surprise, Bowman didn't look confused by the statement at all. Instead, he flitted back and forth in that way he did when arguing. He even shot Jacob a glance over his shoulder, almost smug in the fact that someone else agreed he was too _tall._ "I told Sam at one point," he said dismissively. "Just because he's a bigger giant doesn't mean you're _not_ a giant."  
  
As if to make his point, Bowman spiraled upwards in the air so he was looking down at both humans. With his arms crossed, he nodded towards Sam on Dean's shoulder. "Sam's the only 'normal' sized human I know and even he's tall for sprite-size."  
  
“Taller than I look,” Sam said smugly. “Don’t forget who’s the _shorter_ between us when we’re on the same scale, _small fry._ ” The Spirit dream was top on his mind, same as Dean. Revisiting the forest was bringing back the good memories to vie with the bad they’d been through the last few days.  
  
“And I’m _still_ not a giant,” Dean griped.  
  
“Can’t have it both ways, Dean.”  
  
Bowman finally had his turn at a teasing grin. "Facts, Dean," he reminded him, drifting backwards in the air. Just in case Dean resented the remark, Bowman wanted to be out of reach.  
  
Dean huffed in annoyance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reaction that I imagine Jacob has to Dean's statement that he's taller than Sam: _Of... course I am, dude. He's like.. four inches tall. Why would it be any different._
> 
> Inside jokes and all ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** June 21st, 2020 at 9pm.


	6. Human Magic

Jacob was out of the loop, but amused all the same. Like Dean and Sam, he was glad to see Bowman acting like himself despite what was going on.  
  
From the looks of things, he trusted the other "giant," too.  
  
"Okay, so we've established that I'm too tall," Jacob quipped, getting Bowman's attention. "Any other news?"  
  
It was a sobering question. Bowman shook his head. "Nothing's happened since yesterday."  
  
“Well, that’s what we’re here for,” Dean said, shifting the position of his duffel so it stopped digging into his back. “We came packing.”  
  
“Plenty of new human magic for you, Bowman!” Sam called out, thinking of the EMF reader Dean had grabbed from the car. He had no idea how the sprite would react to the cobbled-together device, but it had a guarantee to be entertaining. A much-needed distraction from the dire situation. So long as Dean didn’t try chasing the sprite with it.  
  
That drew Bowman's dubious gaze to the duffel bag, and Jacob glanced at it too. Neither of them knew just how extensive Dean's arsenal actually was. Bowman, at least, had seen a few of Dean's weapons when they set out against the lich, enough to know he should avoid that bag for the sheer weight of it.  
  
"There's _always_ new human magic," Bowman complained. "Jacob's always got new answers just when I think I've heard the end of it."  
  
Jacob smirked, trying and failing to look sheepish. "That's what humans are for," he quipped. "Annoying sprites." Even as he spoke, he held out a hand in front, an offer for someplace to rest while Bowman groused at them.  
  
The sprite took the offer, gliding down to Jacob's palm and letting his wings relax (mostly) against his back. "Humans," he lamented.  
  
Then, he glanced curiously at Dean's bag again before looking up at the seasoned hunter. "Why don't we go to the village with that human stuff and use it to find out what happened?"  
  
Dean gestured grandly towards the forest ahead. “We’ve just been waiting for our native guide to the forest to show us the way,” he said. “Everything else is ready to go as soon as we get there.”  
  
Sam had a soft smile as he hunkered back down on Dean’s shoulder, already prepared for the long walk to the village. With Bowman back around, Dean was doing a little better, and that was more than Sam could hope after less than twenty-four hours since their father’s funeral. Dean needed to mourn in his own way, but when it made him lash out at anyone around him, everyone got hurt. The people he snapped at, himself when the guilt eventually caught up-- it was hard to say who would end up worse off after that. Dean could take guilt levels above Sam, wrap himself up in a blanket of it and not come out until someone forcibly dragged him away, and the last time that happened was one of the hardest things Sam had ever done. It had worked, but he didn’t want to risk it happening all over again, possibly with Dean worse off than before.  
  
Dean’s swaying stride started up, and Sam resigned himself to a long trip where he was either in a pocket or on a shoulder, unable to get down and explore for himself until they reached their destination.  
  
Bowman stayed on Jacob's hand for a few steps, but true to his nature, he couldn't stand still for long. He made sure the huge humans were headed in the right direction, and then his wings fluttered to life. Jacob knew the way, but Bowman flew in front, taking the lead of their strange group. His flight carried him in a zig-zag pattern so he could take advantage of the many sunbeams reaching for the ground.  
  
Despite having two would-be giants following him, Bowman kept himself alert to anything else in the woods. Any sign on any tree of what was going on. As before, he found nothing, no matter how close he glided by one tree or the other.  
  
They passed through Jacob's clearing, a cloudless sky above looking as cheerful as any sunny day. Nothing gave away the uncertainty in the hearts of Wellwood's residents. The forest went on.  
  
When the village came into view at last, Bowman banked back towards Jacob and Dean. A few sprites could be seen out of their homes, but things were eerily still. No children fluttered on the ground, and most adults kept to the porches of their homes. There was tension and melancholy blending in the air. Bright sunlight dappled the forest floor between the sturdy pine trees, but almost no sprites took advantage of the clear air to fly through it.  
  
"So what do you need for the human magic stuff to work?" Bowman asked. He looked to Sam for the answer, since he'd been the one to bring it up in the first place.  
  
Dean paused at the edge of the grove of trees that formed the village, stopping to lower his duffel to the ground. “Just gotta know _where_ she vanished from,” he called over to Bowman, disheartened by the sight of the village. Even during the lich’s attack, it had never grown this somber.  
  
Before leaving the bag there, Dean went through his jacket, verifying that everything he needed was in the pockets. EMF meter, salt, holy water… he went down the checklist of supplies they used most often. A lighter tucked in his side pockets wouldn’t be needed, most likely. A fire would be dangerous to light near the village and was best saved for another time.  
  
“Got your supplies?” Dean asked Sam on his shoulder.  
  
Sam nodded. “Salt and holy water, and my silver knife,” he said, patting down his jacket as he listed them off. He was too small to carry most of the supplies Dean had, but they took what they could get with his height, the good with the bad.  
  
Dean handed up Sam’s iron nail. “Just in case.”  
  
Sam took it, tucking it under one of his arms. The small nail was the size of a short sword to him, though fighting with it was better done by stabbing it at his enemy. Unless it was a spirit they were fighting, then all he needed to do was _touch_ them with it to discorporate them.  
  
Dean pulled out the EMF meter as he strolled over to where Jacob and Bowman were standing, powering it up. The red lights on the top all buzzed to life, then fell dark as no electromagnetic fields were detected. But that could be an illusion.  
  
“Where’d the girl disappear from?” Dean asked gruffly, covering up his worry.  
  
Bowman drifted closer, curiosity prompting a quick scan of the thing in Dean's hand. To Bowman, it looked like any other piece of human technology. Plastic, metal, and its own inner lights all combined in an alien way that he couldn't decipher. They could tell him it worked any certain way and he wouldn't have the right knowledge to disprove it.  
  
Any other day, Bowman might have a list of questions about the device. Today, he had to just trust that it could help.  
  
"The girl from yesterday was over by her home tree, practicing her flying," he explained. He pointed out the tree in question. "All the other nestlings vanished from their beds."  
  
"Whatever's doing this got bold," Jacob remarked. He watched his step as he edged his way into the village among the cluster of trees. This time, he didn't pay as much mind to the faces peeking out of the tiny houses at him and at Dean. Motion in the corner of his eye betrayed the sprites brave enough to sneak outside to watch them in action.  
  
Dean ambled over to the tree, keeping on his guard to watch out for any sprites down on the ground. After spending the last few weeks around Sam’s family, it didn’t take any thought. It was just a natural reaction now.  
  
Holding out the EMF reader, Dean began to systematically wave it through the air, going over every cubic inch of the area near the indicated tree. “You’ll have to show Sam _exactly_ where she vanished from,” Dean said idly as he made another pass by a branch. “And show him where the nestlings were sleeping. I need to know if there’s anything there I’m too big to see.”  
  
It was an important part of their partnership, one of the reasons they were more successful than most other hunters out there. Sam could see what Dean might miss, and Dean was well-equipped to handle any fight. The Winchesters’ teamwork, if anyone else knew of the younger brother’s existence, would be the stuff of legends.  
  
Dean finished scanning the area near the tree with nothing more than a low-level _blip_ that meant nothing. “S’cuse me,” he murmured softly, leaning closer to the tree itself and beginning another scanning pattern to be sure he covered every inch. With the size of the sprites, it would be too easy to miss a clue like that.  
  
Dean's actions had a captive audience. Sprite faces peered out of the homes on the tree, watching his hand curiously. Most of them showed no trepidation, only interest in the object in his hand or hope that he'd find an answer in his sweeps.  
  
Dean had _slept_ in the village before. They knew he was a trusted friend of Wellwood.  
  
Younger sprites, many of them restless after being kept inside so much in recent days, hoisted themselves up on the window sills. Any kid that spotted Sam on Dean's shoulder sent him excited waves. More than one nestling dropped back to the floor in their home with quiet _thumps_ in their excitement to see the sprite-sized human, especially when he waved back with a grin.  
  
Bowman perched on one of the middle branches of the home tree. He glanced at Jacob and found that neither of them fully understood what Dean was doing. Bowman was comforted a small amount by the knowledge that he wasn't the only one in the dark. Up against _three_ humans, he had worried he'd be playing catch up.  
  
"Bowman, what is that thing?" a sprite asked in a low voice from their porch above him.  
  
Bowman glanced at the EMF meter, paused, and then shrugged. "Human thingie," he said dismissively.  
  
Before they could ask for more, Bowman hopped down from the branch to spiral towards the ground. Dean's boots weren't far from where he landed, and Jacob's weren't far from that. Bowman made sure he knew where both giants were before he sifted around for the very spot the girl had vanished. "She was somewhere around here," he called up.  
  
The boots nearest where he stood, Dean’s, shifted slightly as the man angled himself to be able to see Bowman at such a steep angle. Dean crouched down, displacing the air around him from such a swift move as he held out a hand for Sam.  
  
Sam stepped on, and as soon as Dean was kneeling on the ground, he hopped down to the forest floor.  
  
He didn’t often spend much time on the ground like this, especially around people he didn’t know too well or didn’t fully trust, but today was an exception. Unlike Bowman, Sam had no fast way off the ground and out of the way of any humans that might be walking around. He had only his climbing gear and his mind, and against people who could outdistance him in a step, that wasn’t enough sometimes.  
  
Dean and Jacob were exceptions. Dean had spent the last two years training himself to be able to spot Sam on the ground at a moment’s notice, ever since their first week together. Sam could trust his brother to take care with where he walked. Jacob, meanwhile, had befriended the sprites and earned enough trust to be invited to their village, much like the Winchesters the previous summer. That alone was enough for Sam to offer that same trust to Jacob.  
  
Sam scanned the ground around them, searching for anything out of place or not quite _natural_ as Dean stood to finish his scanning, fiddling with the buttons far overhead as the results came up less-than-encouraging.  
  
“Do you see any marks on the ground that shouldn’t be there?” Sam asked as he examined the area, relying on Bowman’s knowledge of the forest to help them both.  
  
While the others worked, Jacob could do little but watch them. Dean was all business as he scanned the tree with whatever that thing was in his hand, ever mindful of Sam and Bowman down on the ground. It proved how much _both_ of the smaller people trusted Dean, willing to comb through the grass so close to his boots. Jacob respected the man a lot, even despite the cold demeanor he'd gotten from him so far.  
  
"Jacob," a quiet voice said. He jolted and whipped his gaze to the side.  
  
Cerul was back on the balcony of the cottonwood tree, his single wing fanning open in the sun. An entourage of sprites clad in long jackets and armed with tiny rapiers stood near him. The knights.  
  
Jacob glanced down to watch his step and sidled towards the larger tree, leaving the others to their work. Some of the knights were barely hiding smirks at his startled reaction, but Jacob tried to ignore them. "Hey," he greeted uncertainly. He kept his voice down to avoid distracting Dean.  
  
Cerul nodded, though his gaze drifted to Dean with one of those inscrutable looks on his face. He probably recognized the man's attitude for what it was without even trying.  
  
Being an empath had perks.  
  
"Thank you for bringing more help," Cerul said. "I thought I'd let the knights fill you in on what they were able to find out."  
  
Jacob waited, and a knight took that as a cue to step forward. "There are no nearby snake nests, and the closest possums have all been taught not to venture into the village," he said, standing proud as he delivered the verdict to the tall human. "We can be quite certain that it really wasn't an animal that took any of the children, 'specially not the little girl yesterday."  
  
Jacob nodded. "I figured they were all taken by the same thing," he muttered. "We'll figure out what it is, I swear."  
  
"I have faith," Cerul replied, his voice steady as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's just going about his business, scanning a sprite village with an EMF meter.
> 
> It must be quite the sight for those sprites!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** June 24th, 2020 at 9pm.


	7. Investigation

Bowman prowled the ground around the base of the home tree, searching for a sign along with Sam. He might be able to find the spot if he asked the girl's mother, but if he could avoid bothering her, he would. The woman was distraught after the disappearance.  
  
Something finally caught his eye, and Bowman stooped to peer at it. He used a wing to brush a half-dried leaf aside and reveal the dirt underneath.  
  
A third of a circle was darkened into the earth. It looked like ink, but Bowman didn't dare touch it lest he risk destroying what remained of the marking. From the looks of things, it was trampled in the frenzy the day before.  
  
He straightened to call Sam over, but something else caught his eye instead. Bowman's eyebrows shot up.  
  
A young girl glided towards him on dainty wings, her long, twin braids wavering in the breeze. When she landed, her flowing pants and tunic billowed around her small form. Rischa had grown taller in the last year, but she was still just a little girl.  
  
"Birdie, what are you doing out?" Bowman chided her, even as the girl darted over to him to squeeze his middle in a hug.  
  
She glanced way up at Dean as the human worked, a thoughtful frown on her face. She didn't let go of Bowman even when she released him from her hug. One hand remained held tightly to his. It took her a second to answer his question.  
  
"I wanted to see you, of course," she said matter-of-factly. "You've been staying out an awful lot, and mama's gonna throw acorns at you if you don't go check on her soon."  
  
Bowman smirked, then placed a hand on her head. "Did you sneak past her?"  
  
Rischa raised an eyebrow, aiming for a determined pout. "Well, _you_ do it all the time!" Not giving him a chance to retort, she turned towards Sam, beaming. "Hi, Sam! It's good to see you again!"  
  
“Hi Rischa,” Sam greeted warmly. He remembered Bowman’s young cousin fondly. She had not only helped Cerul heal Dean with the magic of the sprites, one-of-a-kind in the world as far as they’d seen, she’d also helped shore Sam up while he doubted himself, afraid he was too small to help out his big brother the way he needed it. “It’s been too long.”  
  
He made his way over to where they were standing and squatted down with his arms open for a hug. “We really need to get out here more often.”  
  
"Yes!" Rischa agreed, only pausing for an instant before accepting the hug. She wrapped her arms and wings both around Sam, the only human she could hug for real that way. She gave him a tight embrace before letting him go to stand next to Bowman again. "Sometime you must come and see us when there isn't something awful around."  
  
Bowman patted one of Rischa's wings gently. "We'll figure this one out. We've got Jacob, Sam, _and_ Dean to help out this time."  
  
Rischa fanned her wings and nodded, though her eyes strayed thoughtfully once again to the human towering so near. "I know you'll help," she agreed, smiling at Sam. Whatever she read in the emotions surrounding the pair of brothers, she made no indication. That was something she'd learned since the last time they met, when she had all but blurted Sam's own feelings to him.  
  
"I did find something," Bowman said, looking down. He nudged Rischa to step back so they could all see the partial mark in the dirt, hardly bigger than Sam's palm. "Maybe."  
  
Sam’s eyes lit up. “Our first lead!” He was next to Bowman in a flash, brushing away any debris that was close to the mark with one hand while his other hand pulled out his journal. “This is more like it.”  
  
The journal Sam flipped open was his newer one. While his old journal, tattered and falling apart, had been found with the remnants of an old dollhouse set, this journal had been given to him by his older brother. The soft leather binding was a higher quality than the previous journal, made to last and serving to protect the pages within. Sam flipped open the book and removed a red velvet scrap he’d found to use as a bookmark.  
  
Here, he quickly sketched out what remained of the mark on the ground and the surrounding area. It wasn’t much, but even this small mark was more than they had previously.   
  
Sam frowned as he stood, staring down at the little third of a circle. Barely noticeable, and its placement on the ground had helped it stay hidden when the panic set in from a vanishing child. Magic was at work here, and not the helpful magic of the sprites.  
  
“We need to see where the rest of the kids vanished from,” Sam decided at length. “There’s a chance the symbol wasn’t disturbed in one of the houses, and if we want to track it back to its source, we need to know what kind of magic it is.”  
  
Stalking over to Dean’s boot, Sam pounded his fist on the thick leather and called up “Dean! Down here!”  
  
In seconds, Dean was kneeling down again, the sight of him dropping down so fast and from so close nearly making Sam’s head spin. Sam jabbed a finger at the smudged mark. “Bowman found something that looks right, can you see it?”  
  
Dean squinted, and after a long moment put a hand down on the ground near them, glancing around himself to see if anyone else was nearby, then going flat on his stomach. He peered closely at the ground before shaking his head. “Maybe… a smudge or something.”  
  
Following Sam’s indication, he held the EMF meter so the antenna was pointing right at the mark, but there was still no reaction from the machine. Sam huffed, his bangs flying up at the puff of breath.   
  
Bowman and Rischa practically held their breath as they watched the EMF meter. Since it had yet to react to anything, neither of them knew what it _might_ do if the smudge on the ground had any leftover ... _something_ in it. To them, they might as well be looking at a crashed UFO.  
  
Overhead, Bowman noticed Jacob shifting where he stood. Dean's lying down had caught the attention of anyone watching. He stretched across the small grove of trees so much that his boots could almost reach the home trees on the other side.  
  
Rischa waited until the object moved away from the smudge, and squatted down next to it. She held a hand over the dirt, tilting her head.  
  
"Anything, Birdie? Does it feel like some kind of magic was there?" Bowman asked.  
  
Rischa bothered her lower lip for a second before straightening again. "Uh uh," she admitted. "I can't feel anything. Are you going to go to Vel's house?"  
  
Bowman glanced at Sam, and then nodded at her. "He's the first one who went missing. There might be something like this there, too."  
  
Rischa hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe... Vel's mama hasn't left the house for a long time. I think she might be getting sick." Her little wings quivered. Rischa had been to see the grief-stricken Nia since her young son had vanished. Every bit of anguish the poor mother felt had echoed in Rischa, too.  
  
  
“Sounds like a plan,” Dean said, shifting his hand against the ground so it was planted firmly, and pushing himself back up. He was cautious with his boots to avoid leaving long furrows in the ground in the center of the village, feeling as awkward as construction equipment while surrounded by people Sam’s size. For once, Dean was the brother who stood out among his surroundings.  
  
Once he was crouched, Dean flattened his hand near Sam, Bowman and Rischa. “First class,” he offered with a wry grin. He could remember the branch Vel lived in. Watching Sam go on a grand tour of the house was one of the better memories of their case in Wellwood. One of the very few times Sam was surrounded by stuff made to cater to _his_ size. “All aboard!”  
  
Sam cast one last look at the smudge on the ground to make sure he’d copied it perfectly, then stepped up onto Dean’s hand. He stuck his journal in his satchel for the short trip and his pencil lead in his pocket so he wouldn’t lose it, keeping a firm grip on the iron nail Dean had armed him with earlier. It was looking more and more like they wouldn’t need it, but it was better to be safe than sorry, the main reason for Dean’s duffel full of weapons.  
  
Bowman nearly made a comment that he could reach the other home tree without help, but Rischa was too quick for him. She smiled up at Dean and, despite her uneasy glances earlier, walked right over to his hand. "I will go with you," she determined. "While you work I can talk to Miss Nia."  
  
"Birdie..." Bowman muttered. He huffed quietly and his wings twitched as if encouraging him to fly anyway. He followed her on Dean's hand before they could all leave him behind.  
  
There was a small smile lurking at the edge of Dean’s mouth as he watched everyone file onto his hand, heartened by the trust they had in him. “Dean express, heading out,” he said, the joking tone almost alien to the emotions he’d battled with during the last day.  
  
The second hand came over to cup around the edge of the first, guarding the three people from the drop that formed as he went to stand. Bowman might complain, but Sam didn’t have wings like the others to catch himself if he slipped.  
  
The familiar tree was waiting for them, the front door sealed shut as Dean approached. He held his hand steady next to the porch. Sam hopped down first, then stood aside for Rischa and Bowman. He didn’t want to intrude on a grieving woman without warning. The brothers had helped the forest community before, but in such an intimate setting, Sam couldn’t help but feel like a stranger at times. On the outside looking in.  
  
With so much attention on the giants among the trees, it was impossible for the residents of the home tree to miss Dean's approach. As Bowman helped Rischa step down from Dean's hand, the door of the home opened.  
  
A familiar but weary face greeted the sight of visitors on his porch with a wan smile. Karlis, young Vel's father and a former knight of Wellwood, stepped stiffly out into the sun, glancing up at Dean and beyond him at Jacob, who still hung back to watch curiously. He nodded to Sam and Dean. "Vel's brothers," he recalled warmly. "I think I'd heard rumors you'd be coming back."  
  
Rischa took a slow, steadying breath. With Dean and Sam's recent sorrow on one side and Karlis' sense of loss on the other, it was hard to stay focused.  
  
She'd learned a lot ever since discovering her gift, the Voice of the Spirit, but her abilities had grown, too. The emotions swam around her like fish around seaweed, and if she didn't move with the current it could sweep her away. "Hi, Mister Karlis, sir," she greeted in a sweet, soft voice.  
  
Sam offered his own smile to Karlis. “Once we heard the news, we came as fast as we could,” he said, stepping closer so he stood even with Bowman.  
  
“Whatever it takes, we’ll find out what happened,” Dean swore. With everyone off his hand, he moved it to the edge of the porch, resting three fingers lightly on the branch. Keeping it close both gave Sam a quick way off the tree and let Dean stay close to his little brother, something that seemed more important to him now. It had taken him so long to find his little brother, he didn’t want to risk losing him to this unknown scourge afflicting the sprites.  
  
“We were hoping I could take a look inside,” Sam explained. “If something took him, there might be a sign, and there’s a chance we can use it to track down whatever this is.”  
  
Karlis glanced back at his open door, and nodded. "Maybe," he said. For a sprite who was at one time a proud fighter among the sprites, he seemed out-of-sorts. As he led them into the house, the reason became clear.  
  
The main room of the pine-grown home was dominated by short benches, each with their own cushions atop them. There was an alcove with shelves and a small table that served as a kitchen, but it was cluttered. The house had been much tidier, much _happier_ the last time Sam had been able to walk among its rooms.  
  
A sprite woman lay all but draped over one of the benches, her wings hanging limply onto the floor. Vel's young mother, Nia, the first in the village to lose a child to this sudden and confusing phenomenon. Her wings were tinged at the edges with a grayish-green, and she lifted her head to look at the newcomers with confusion on her face.  
  
"I ... um," she said, flustered.  
  
Rischa took a rattling breath and strode towards her to kneel at her side. The young empath took the woman's hand and murmured to her gently. Karlis stared at them for a beat before remembering Sam.  
  
"Vel went missing from his room, it's just this way if you want to see it."  
  
Sam nodded to show he was listening, but his concern for Nia spiked. He took a few steps towards her, and smiled warmly, pushing out any other emotions. It would be too easy to fall into the grief trap the sprite mother was stuck in, especially after the events the other day. Another thing Sam had learned during his grief for Mallory was compartmentalizing when he was working. Sometimes it worked better than other times, but right now he was laser focused, making it effortless.  
  
“Nia, we came to help find Vel,” Sam said gently. “Dean’s here. He can’t come in to visit, but I know he wants to see you.” He tilted his head at the shadow that lurked outside the windows-- huge and imposing, but harmless for the small sprite family. “He’s out there waiting.”  
  
"Come on, Nia," Rischa agreed gently. "Wanna go outside with me for a little bit?"  
  
Nia blinked slowly, and then nodded. "Alright." Her voice was fluttery and weak. Unlike Sam, she had no defenses against the worry and sadness she felt. It was like a physical weight that pulled on her when she moved to sit up.  
  
Karlis stepped in, helping his mate to her feet. "There, now, love," he muttered. "Sam will do his good work just like last time and we can wait in the sun."  
  
Bowman sidled out of the way as Rischa and Karlis led the depressed woman to the door, and then he heaved a sigh. When they were gone, his wings twitched in their own sympathy for the state of Nia's. She hadn't been outside nearly enough. "Since Vel was the first, everyone thought it might be an animal. I think there were a few that didn't believe her that he just disappeared."  
  
Since Karlis had forgotten about leading the way through the house, Bowman drifted towards a doorway into the hall instead. "Shall we look for the rest of that mark?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to leave a comment to let us know what you think!
> 
> It's been hard for Karlis and Nia ever since Vel vanished, but the Winchesters are here to help!
> 
> Get that girl some sun.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** June 28th, 2020 at 9pm.


	8. Closer to Home

Out on the porch, Nia squinted in the sunlight. Her wings, weak and sickly from less sunlight and her own depression, perked up of their own accord. She brushed at her eyes to stare up at the giant face looming so near her home.  
  
The first time she'd seen Dean, he was there when she burst out of her home looking for Vel, only to find that her son had all but adopted the Winchesters and brought them home.  
  
"H-hello," she greeted weakly. "V-Vel would be so happy to see you here."  
  
Though Dean hadn’t expected to see Vel’s mother come out to visit him on her own, he did his best to recover from the surprise. Mostly by scrambling to compose his thoughts. It wasn’t often he talked to anyone Sam’s size without Sam _around._  
  
Plus, Sam _knew_ he was bad at consoling people.   
  
However, Dean could see why she was outside, and had a feeling Sam had done his best to coax her. The wings on her back-- normally so leafy and green like the rest of the Wellwood sprites-- had an unhealthy sheen. After a few of Bowman’s lectures, Dean could tell that they needed more sun and care.  
  
Dean lifted two of the fingers he had resting on the porch, giving her a small (to him) wave with them. “I’m sure he’d be looking for chocolate already,” he said, remembering the excited kid with his very own _entire_ M&M. “Me and Sammy will find him for you and bring him home, don’t you worry.”  
  
The memory of Vel hoarding that M&M for as long as he could to make it last drew a raspy chuckle out of her. "He held out for two whole days before finally giving in and having us break it so he could eat some," she recalled fondly.  
  
She took a slow breath and nodded. If anyone could figure out what was going on, it was the team of humans that Bowman Leafwing had somehow befriended. Even Jacob, the first human ally that Wellwood ever had, was there, watching solemnly. Rischa still had a hold on Nia's hand. She fanned her wings slowly, coping the best she could with the anguish around her and exuding a calm aura all her own.  
  
"I ... I suppose I can stay out here a while," Nia decided. Her wings, so desperate for sunlight, stretched weakly behind her in an attempt to capture more of the life-giving rays.  
  
Rischa smiled encouragingly. "Me an' Karlis an' Dean will keep you company while Sam's looking for clues."  
  
“And once we get Vel back,” _and we will,_ Dean vowed internally, “I’ll make sure he gets all the M&Ms he wants. He’ll have a grand time sharing them with all the other kids.”  
  
Dean just hoped Sam was having some luck inside the house while he worked.  
  


* * *

  
Following Bowman through the house, Sam paused respectfully when they found Vel’s room.  
  
Not long ago, the small sprite who’d adopted them as his brother had been inside. A little structure of twigs along the side was untouched, reminding Sam of the building blocks he’d seen other children use while growing up. He and Dean had never played with toys like that, growing up on the road, but as a child Sam had wished he could.  
  
Sam stepped over the threshold. A part of him instinctively wanted to pull out an EMF meter of his own to scan the place, just like Dean had done, but he’d never held one in his hand before. It just felt… right, suddenly. Like a half-forgotten dream he’d had before.   
  
Pushing that impression aside, Sam was all business as he examined the room, covering every square inch before touching anything. He needed to be certain they didn’t miss a single thing. All it took was one slip-up to ruin a case.  
  
After that, Sam went over to the bed and reverentially pushed aside the covers. Nothing was on the surface of the bed, sending some of the anticipation right out of Sam. He’d expected the mark to be right there waiting for them.   
  
The fluffy pillow was crooked, drawing Sam’s eye. He reached for it after a beat of hesitation, turning it over.  
  
The mark was there, and it was whole.  
  
Sam hurriedly pulled out his journal, opening up to the page with the half-smudged mark and quickly scratching out the whole mark on the opposite page.  
  
“I might have to draw this bigger for Dean and Jacob once we get to a computer,” Sam said, speaking his thoughts aloud for Bowman’s sake, “but we’ve found what we need.”  
  
Bowman rushed over to where Sam was eagerly copying the symbol. He ignored the sounds outside, the telltale rustling of the leaves and grass that came with a giant shifting their feet. Jacob or Dean could be heard throughout the village with ease if they wanted.  
  
The symbol was so strange and foreign against the soft fabric of the cottony pillow. Like the mark on the ground, it reminded him of ink, but it was too crisp. Ink should have muddled through the woven threads of the cloth, but this symbol was clear as stream water.  
  
Bowman reached a hand towards it, and then thought better. "Maybe we should take it away from here, too," he muttered, unsure. "Would this symbol still be dangerous for someone else, if it's what made nestlings disappear?" If that were the case, Bowman had a mind to dart to each house that had been affected, to scrub the mark away or take any object it had imprinted on if they weren't pinned down.  
  
Sam thought about it, then nodded hesitantly. “I don’t _think_ anything else will happen with it, but we can’t be sure,” he said uncertainly. “But I _do_ know what we can do about it without taking every single thing in the village with the symbol on it with us.”  
  
Taking the pillow, Sam dug his knife out of his jacket. He only looked at it for a moment longer, sealing the image in his mind, before he systematically began to slice the pillow. He shredded the symbol until it was unrecognizable and no one would be able to recreate it, not all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, much like the unfortunate Humpty Dumpty up on that wall.  
  
Pocketing one of the pillow scraps with the ink embedded into it, Sam nodded with satisfaction. “Spread the word that the symbol must be destroyed,” he said. “In the magic we know, changing or destroying a symbol will remove its power. It’s not enough to bring the children back, not after the magic is finished, but it will keep it from taking anyone else.”  
  
Bowman's eyes were wide, but he nodded. The knife in Sam's hand glinted in the light from the window, displaying how dangerous it could be. The sprites had a few daggers in the village for the knights to use, and Bowman had only held a weapon like that all of one time. He wasn't used to seeing them in action on his scale (and he avoided noticing whenever Jacob had to use a pocket knife for anything).  
  
"I can go check the other homes now," he determined, leading the way back to the doorway of Vel's room. His eyes lingered on the messy pile of small sticks near the wall. The boy would be happy to get back to his games _when_ they found him.  
  
Bowman didn't check to see if Sam was following, stepping out of the house determinedly to find a small gathering waiting on the porch and two giant humans making for an unusual view beyond it. "Sam found the same symbol in there," he remarked. "Not like any sprite letter I've ever seen."  
  
Sam followed in Bowman’s footsteps, patting his satchel and nodding up at Dean as he exited the house. “We’ll need to get back to the motel and find out where it’s from and what it means,” he determined.  
  
Dean groaned. “Research?”  
  
Sam nodded his head ruefully. “Research. And no ducking out this time.”  
  
Bowman smirked at the look on Dean's face. "I'm going to go make sure that mark isn't left anywhere," he announced, his wings already fanning open. "I'll be swift."  
  
Before he could dive away from the porch, Rischa stopped him with a wave of her hand. "If you're going somewhere, don't forget to stop at home, first, Bowman. Mama will bop you if you don't."  
  
Bowman gave his reassurance in the form of a nod, before stepping off the porch to glide towards a different home tree. Rischa watched him go before looking up at Dean with a smile. "I think we can let Nia go lie down for now, but thanks for helping me keep her company, Dean."  
  


* * *

  
Jacob had always been something of an outsider in the village, owing to his huge size compared to its leafy-winged residents. It was strange to stand by and watch another human leaning so close to one of the home trees.  
  
It was like getting an outside view of how strange he looked among the village.  
  
He was a bit jealous that Sam, by contrast, fit in so well that he could walk right into that house. The most Jacob could manage would be to poke a few fingers through a window at the most. He and Dean wouldn't be able to fit their hands through the doors.  
  
As much as he wanted to check on the poor sprite mother, Jacob stayed back. He didn't want to find himself in Dean's way while the guy was working. He'd already taken enough attitude. He waited near the cottonwood tree, with Cerul and the knights watching over things even as Bowman flitted away from the first home tree on a mission of his own.  
  
"Jacob, I think your calm would be good for Rischa, if you get a chance to visit her," Cerul intoned after a long, thoughtful silence.  
  
Jacob turned his head to see the one-winged sprite, a well-practiced empath, watching the others closely. "You think so?" he asked.  
  
Cerul nodded. "Her gift has grown and she can be easily overwhelmed by the emotions of others. Nia's anguish ... And the turmoil around Dean. If I can feel it from here, Rischa definitely can."  
  
Jacob pursed his lips and glanced back. He couldn't help but think of the first time he'd ever talked to Dean compared to his meeting with the man today. Maybe there was more to it than just pulling an all-nighter and finding out Jacob was tall.  
  
"I'll be sure to go say hi to her before we head out," he muttered.  
  


* * *

  
“Don’t worry, Nia,” Sam said, drawing her into one last hug, “we’ll bring him home.”  
  
After he pulled away, Dean reached forward with a finger and lightly touched Nia’s shoulder. “No one messes with our youngest brother,” he promised with a wink, more of the old Dean showing through. With someone in need to focus on, it came naturally.  
  
Unfurling his hand, Dean let Sam climb on to be conveyed to a shoulder to save a little time. Now that they had information to go on, both brothers were eager to get on the job.  
  
Nodding a goodbye at the sprites, Dean carefully stepped back from the tree and wandered over to his duffel bag, scooping it up and waiting at the edge of the trees for Bowman to finish looking for the symbols.   
  
Jacob kept an eye on things from his spot near the cottonwood tree. With two giants in the village, some of the sprites had given into their curiosity to come outside. Whatever was happening to their peaceful home, they took some comfort in knowing that they had some help (at least, that was Cerul's hypothesis). Even a timid wraith sprite, someone who'd never seen Dean before and hadn't been in Wellwood when the lich attacked, was outside, their little quill wings half spread.  
  
Whichever sprite looked his way, Jacob offered them a smile and sometimes a wave. Those that recognized him waved back.  
  
After flitting to the other homes that had lost children, Bowman darted back to his own home tree, landing on a branch that only reached chest level for Jacob or Dean. He disappeared inside just as Jacob remembered his promise to Cerul to see Rischa before he left. The girl needed a calmer person around her to temper the emotions she'd exposed herself to.  
  
He gave the older sprite a nod and left his side at last. Jacob could visit Bowman's family before he left with Sam and Dean.  
  


* * *

  
Bowman heaved a sigh as he entered his home. No one among the parents missing their nestlings had noticed the appearance of the symbol. He'd instructed them to shred its appearance on fabrics and scrub it away from the wood of their homes, echoing Sam's warning. They couldn't allow that symbol to cause any more harm.  
  
With that task done, the reality of what was to come settled on his shoulders. "Aunt, Uncle," he greeted, standing in the main room of his home with them. He rubbed absently at his arm while he tried to figure out how to explain.  
  
He knew it was dangerous, but he _had_ to go with them.  
  
His aunt Candara, a mother to him since he was younger than Rischa, put a gentle hand on his face. "Just be careful when you go, Bowman," she told him. Her eyes were the same vibrant green as his and she smiled. "If ... when they find the nestlings, they'll need a sprite around just in case."  
  
"Even if we forbade it, you'd just sneak past us anyway," his uncle said with a grin. Bowman grinned back, but didn't deny the truth.  
  
"I just don't want you to worry about me," Bowman admitted. For his last several misadventures, with Jacob and the Winchesters both, he'd been unable to tell his family what was happening. Unable to tell them he was okay. "I mean. More than _usual._ "  
  
Candara laughed and lightly slapped a hand against his shoulder. "Bowman Leafwing, I've made a habit of worrying about you and I'm not about to stop just because you learned some manners!"  
  
Bowman rolled his eyes and his wings flicked in mock annoyance. "I'm not _that_ bad," he insisted. Then, "I'm gonna let Birdie know, too. Then we'll be off and you'll hardly blink before we're back."  
  
He wandered through the twisty halls of his home until he arrived at a lopsided archway into Rischa's room. Her room was small, but tidy, and she had one of the larger windows in their home. The sunshine splashed across the floor where she sat on her knees, humming to a little grassdoll as she made it dance.  
  
"Hey, Birdie," he greeted. "Feeling good?"  
  
She looked up, golden eyes lit with a smile despite her already-exhausting day. "Bowman," she greeted, "done already? Does this mean you're heading out with Jacob and the others?"  
  
He nodded and gave her a sheepish smile. "I promise not to get into too much trouble?"  
  
She rolled her eyes, but the expression was so much kinder from her, less sarcastic, than when he did it. Everything she did seemed to radiate kindness and a childlike innocence, despite the emotions of everyone around her weighing on her wings.  
  
She opened her mouth to say something more, and one hand braced on the floor as she went to stand. Then, her face froze in confused shock.  
  
"Bowman--!" was all he heard before, without any more warning and barely a rush of displaced air, Rischa was gone.  
  
 _Gone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rischa!!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love
> 
> **Next:** July 1st, 2020 at 9pm.


	9. A Chill Breeze

"No!" Bowman dove forward to where she'd been not a second before. She was gone. Rischa, the little Birdie he'd promised to take care of the moment he held her in his arms as a brand new sprout. Vanished right before his eyes so quickly he hardly realized his heart had all but ricocheted inside his chest.  
  
Between his hands, inked into the floor of her room, was that symbol. The same one he'd just ensured was taken out of other homes, had come to _his._ It glowed with ominous intent, and then faded to the same hue as the others they’d found. Bowman felt like he was watching a smug glare, gloating about how he’d been unable to do _anything_ to stop this.  
  
Panic thrummed through his body like the static in the air after a storm. Bowman's wings went rigid and he forced himself to his feet only to stumble backwards against the wall.  
  
Birdie was gone. Bowman couldn't breathe. Had to get out. Fly after her ... wherever she went.  
  
He didn't even notice his aunt and uncle rushing into the room. As soon as the doorway was clear, Bowman was rushing back out, panic pounding in his ears and warming his face. His left knee, plagued by an old injury, threatened to give out beneath him as he stumbled towards the front door.  
  
When he reached it, he all but threw it open so he could leap to action. He was moving so quickly, he didn't bother to notice the cloth-covered wall that had stopped outside his home, and he crashed right into it.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob flinched at the impact against his chest, but his reflexes were ready. He had a hand under Bowman to catch him before he could fall, dazed, all the way to the ground. Jacob's eyes were wide as he stared at the small form sprawled on his palm, wings draped over the edge of his fingers.  
  
"Bowman?" he said, unable to resist glancing towards where Dean stood waiting. "Bowman, you alright, dude?" He nudged gently at the dazed figure on his hand.  
  
At the look Jacob sent them, it was all Dean could do not to just rush over there. That wasn’t the look of someone for whom everything was peachy-keen. It was the wide-eyed look of fear, an instant of indecision and worry before it cleared up with focus and Jacob was trying to coax an answer out of Bowman.  
  
Instead of running, Dean settled for taking longer paces than normal. Whatever was happening in this village, he didn’t want to add to any pandemonium as more and more sprites drifted outside to see them off, the friendly humans that promised to help them out of a dark time. That didn’t stifle the urgency that bloomed in Dean’s chest, seeing the state Bowman was in from close by, and Dean found himself reaching for Sam automatically, knowing what to do for once.  
  
Sam hopped right over from Dean’s hand to Jacob’s without pause, rushing to his friend’s side. “Bowman, what’s wrong?” he asked, carefully sitting Bowman up and supporting his back so he didn’t collapse.  
  
The hand beneath them barely twitched, despite Jacob's alarm for Sam's leap. If he hadn't cleared that gap, he didn't have wings to catch himself. It was a daring move, executed so quickly, that it was all Jacob could do to cup his other hand with the first so the tiny pair had room.  
  
The sprite shuddered, and Jacob brushed against the edge of a wing in a feather light contact. "Bowman?" he muttered.  
  
Bowman finally looked up, first finding Sam's face, and then tilting his head to find Dean and Jacob over him. The sting in his eyes became tears that raced down his cheeks. His attempt to escape the emotions and leap into action hadn't worked. Now, he had to face the fact.  
  
"I-I-I can't find her by myself," he stammered, his voice thick. "I'm supposed to look after her but I won't be able to find her!"  
  
Ice dropped into Jacob's stomach. Already knowing the answer, he asked, "Who, Bowman?"  
  
"Birdie!" Bowman wailed, his voice wrapped up in anguish. "Rischa disappeared and that Spirit-scorned _symbol_ is all that's left of my Birdie!" Bowman's wings flared up part way behind him, and then collapsed right away, quivering. He buried his face in his hands.  
  
Sam held Bowman close, resting his chin on the wild green hair while the sprite shook. “We’re going to find her,” he promised, his voice low with worry for the purely innocent Rischa. Someone who, from Sam’s experience, wanted nothing more than to help everyone she met. “No matter what. There’s no other options.”  
  
“We need to go _now,_ ” Dean said urgently from where he was hovering close by, trying to conceal how antsy having Sam in someone else’s hands was making him. “The sooner we find out what that symbol means, the sooner we can get to the bottom of this.”  
  
Jacob tore his gaze away from the sorrowful scene on his hand to meet Dean's gaze and nod. No matter what "turmoil" the man was supposedly hiding and no matter how they'd gotten off to a poor start, they agreed on that at least.  
  
Sweet, tiny Rischa. Jacob looked back down at Bowman's mournful slump against Sam and knew that his friend had been terrified of this exact situation. With children disappearing, she'd been in danger the whole time no matter that she behaved like an adult at times. She was just a kid who happened to be wise.  
  
"Bowman, we're gonna go somewhere we can find out more," Jacob said gently. "Do you want to stay here, or--"  
  
Bowman leaned away from Sam's hug enough to shake his head. "No, I gotta ... gotta help," he said, sniffling pitifully. "I'm still going with you."  
  
Jacob nodded. He wasn't about to contradict the distraught sprite now. "Okay. Uh. Sam, you wanna ... go with your brother? So you guys can talk hunter stuff if you need to or something..." The offer trailed off awkwardly, the first excuse Jacob could think of. Sam might have willfully jumped into his hands to help Bowman, but Jacob knew well that guys their size didn't just get used to guys _his_ size right away.   
  
Sam tore his attention away from Bowman, blinking up at Jacob like he’d forgotten the tall teenager was there. “Uh… yeah.” It was apparent that Dean was uncomfortable with him sitting over on Jacob’s hand, all but dancing in place as he shifted his weight from heel to heel. The more time they spent around Jacob, the better Sam was getting at forgetting his height, but it was still jarring to see Dean _shorter._ For so long, the only person Sam knew that was taller than his older brother was their dad, and he was a figure Sam had looked up to for so long, it was almost natural he should be the tallest.  
  
Jacob, on the other hand, was younger than both brothers. He was muscular and built, but it was questionable if he knew how to use his strength the way Dean did. The elder Winchester was built to fight, and ready to take on all challengers.  
  
Sam rubbed Bowman’s arm as he stood, making sure the sprite wouldn’t fall over without him there for support. “Just take it easy while we head out, okay?” Sam offered. “I’m sure Jacob won’t mind you taking a break to get your strength back.”  
  
Then, Dean held out his hand, and Sam performed the same foolhardy stunt as before, leaping between the two humans and quickly scaling up to his chosen shoulder.  
  
Dean looked far more comfortable with Sam back in place, sending Bowman one look with his guard down, understanding etched into every line on his face. It was gone in a flash, leaving them to assume they’d imagined it. “Time to get back,” he said gruffly.  
  
Jacob nodded in agreement, but looked down at the forlorn sprite on his hand before making a move. He finally noticed that they weren't the only ones watching Bowman with worry; his aunt and uncle had stumbled out onto the porch as well. Bowman's aunt was barely holding herself up, as distraught as Bowman about Rischa's disappearance.  
  
"We're gonna find them," Jacob assured them. "I'll look out for Bowman, just like last time, okay?" He tried to smile.  
  
Bowman's uncle nodded. "Don't let him get _too_ reckless."  
  
It was a far more somber goodbye than it should have been, but Jacob nodded and turned to make his way out of the village. He watched his steps, just in case, and his eyes drifted towards Bowman often. By the time he stepped over the stream, Bowman had opted to wrap his wings around himself, a leaf-green cocoon to block out the world while he coped.  
  
The trip back to Jacob’s meadow, a landmark on their walk to the Impala, passed quietly between the four. Sam took out his journal, frowning at the drawing of the two symbols as he branded them into his mind. Whatever this was, it was hurting his friends and targeting the innocent, and he’d do whatever he could to stop it.  
  
Dean continued to feel edgy, occasionally glancing ahead of them, to where Jacob held his best friend Bowman in a hand. Dean would be lying if he said he was completely comfortable around Jacob, especially when it came to the vulnerable sprites and Sam, but he reminded himself that Bowman had known Jacob longer and Sam had even gone into the kid’s hands just moments ago.  
  
Dean’s fingers twitched at the memory.  
  
They had only just reached the outskirts of the clearing, the sun shining against the tall grass with a merry twinkle, when it happened.  
  
A breeze hit Dean, sending an icy shudder up his spine. He could faintly hear Sam exclaiming “Dean?!” in the distance, but it felt like they were separated by a long distance, instead of Sam lounging on his shoulder.  
  
None of the blades of grass around them wafted in the breeze.  
  
The world started to warp around him, the edge of the trees growing sharper. His head started to ache as his limbs grew heavy, a ringing in his ears drowning everything else out. "S-Sammy," he tried to force out, wanting to warn his brother as the vertigo set in. He couldn't even hear his own voice.  
  
That was all he managed to get out. Dean felt himself collapsing on the ground as if he was experiencing it from outside himself. A tremble that might have been Jacob hitting the ground with him echoed up through the earth. Dean lost sight of Sam long before he landed. He hadn't even felt Sam get thrown off.  
  
The ringing grew in intensity.  
  
As sleep claimed him at last, Dean could have sworn he heard a voice past it, chanting in Latin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rischa isn't the only one who might be having troubles. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** July 5th, 2020 at 9pm.


	10. The Stakes Are Raised

Wind whistled through the treetops.

It was that sound, combined with the others-- crickets chirping, birds singing, all so _alien_ to him, that finally served to drag Sam out of the darkness he’d fallen into.

Groaning, the younger Winchester brother rolled over, staring up into a blue sky dotted by fluffy white cumulus clouds in the distance.

Never since his curse had Sam slept out in the open wilderness _alone._

This jolted him awake, staring around at his crisp, verdant surroundings with wide eyes.

Dean. Where was Dean?

Sam shoved himself to his feet, dirt and small pebbles digging into his palms. He stumbled, almost tripping over the satchel that was lying close to his feet. Scooping it up, his heart dropped when he saw the journal was missing.

That brought back a little more of his memories from before. He’d been sitting on Dean’s shoulder, going through his notes. Then Dean had wavered in place, like a dizzy spell had washed over him. Never once could Sam remember his older brother succumbing to anything like that before. 

It always seemed like Dean was this unmovable mountain, and sometimes Sam forgot he was just a human.

Then, they were both falling, and whatever befell them happened all at once. Unconsciousness rushed up at Sam much like the ground, and he had no idea how he was in once piece after such a fall. Dean was _tall_. Tumbling off his shoulder with no one to catch him should mean broken bones and a shattered body at the _least._

Tall grass surrounded Sam on all sides, and with his satchel by his side, he darted around, searching in a quickly widening spiral for his journal or Dean, whichever he found first. His mind did not yet recall Bowman or Jacob, still working its way back to why he was in the forest in the first place. The blades of grass were too weak for Sam to climb, apt to bend down the moment he got too high.

It was with a huge sigh of relief that Sam found his journal, lying open with the pages fluttering in the breeze. He scooped it up, slowing down his pace as he brushed the dirt from it.

Now he could focus on more important things. “Dean!” he shouted, willing his small voice to rise above the grassline. He continued his trek, weaving between the blades and bypassing any bugs he saw in the grass with a wide margin.

A sound began to differentiate itself as he walked along, and this one made him break out into a smile.

_Breathing._

Loud and deep, long gusts made themselves known, and Sam’s hope spiked. Only a human would sound like that, completely relaxed in sleep. He should know. He’d used Dean’s pocket as a sleeping bag so many times before. It was warm, it was safe, and it was right ahead of him in the grass.

“Dean!” Sam broke into a run, darting towards the human as fast as he could. He only slowed when he saw the deep shadow through the grass; it was dangerous to go close to an unaware giant, awake or not.

Skirting along the edge, Sam frowned as he realized that this giant wasn’t wearing Dean’s leather jacket. In fact, it looked like…

A hoodie.

“Jacob,” Sam sighed, both relieved to find the teenager okay and disappointed to realize his brother remained missing. At least with Jacob, Sam would have a better chance of finding the hunter. He could finally get off the ground and get a proper look at their surroundings.

Sam made his way to where Jacob’s face was slumped against the ground. Normally, he’d be more cautious while waking up a giant, but right now, there was no time to waste. Bowman and Dean were both still missing and Sam _needed_ Jacob up and alert.

Finally locating a cheek within reach, Sam shoved on it with both hands. “C’mon, Jacob,” he called out, “beauty rest is over now.”

At first, there was no reaction. Whatever strange effect had closed in on the strange group had driven Jacob into a deep sleep that resisted any attempt to escape it.

Hazy memories came back first. Walking up to the sprite village, watching investigations unfold. When it was time to go, _Rischa_ disappeared and Bowman ...

Jacob noticed the pressure of teeny hands on his face at last. His brow furrowed and he flinched away, startled awake at last. Leaves and grass rustled underneath his movements.

One hand rushed in to scoop up the source of his waking, to keep Bowman out of the way while his other hand propped him up. Jacob didn't want to accidentally knock the little guy over. Most people might just swat at a feeling like that, but Jacob had gotten used to it. If he was out in the forest, he wouldn't swat at an unknown tickle until he was sure it wasn't a sprite.

When he was sitting up and blinking the sleep away, Jacob finally registered a couple things about the squirming shape in his hand. Brown hair instead of green, pale skin instead of brown... no wings. _Oh..._

"Oh, shit!" he blurted. Jacob's hand lowered back to the ground and opened flat. "Shit, Sam, I'm sorry," he slurred, still waking up. "I thought you were Bowman, he gets in my face like that all the time ... J-just didn't want to knock you over or anything."

Disoriented, Sam let himself slide to the ground, landing on wobbly legs. He’d only been grabbed like that a few times before, and getting swept off the ground was not something he’d ever get used to. He was glad the huge fingers had never closed fully around him. Dean’s hands were big, but Jacob’s were _huge,_ something he hadn’t paid attention to until he was held in one. Any one of those fingers outsized Sam in height, while with Dean he could at least proclaim himself taller than a few.

“I-I’m fine,” Sam said, gathering himself together once he was standing on the ground. Unable to contain his energy, he started to pace from side to side rapidly. “But Bowman’s missing and I can’t find _Dean_ and I need your help to look, I can’t find my older brother!”

The stress radiating off of Sam, whose pacing barely covered a few inches, prompted Jacob to look around. First, he looked at the ground that he'd recently rested on. Flattened grass was slowly standing back up after his weight was mercifully removed from it.

Thankfully, his worry of finding a _sprite_ there too was unfounded. He hadn't fallen on Bowman when he was knocked out.

_Then where ..._ The worry rose in him, too. Jacob's eyes fell on Dean's duffel bag several feet away. It looked like it had simply been dropped and abandoned there, forgotten, except no obvious tracks led away from it.

Dean would never have left his little brother out here in the open, anyway.

"Uh," he said, finally looking back to Sam. "W-We'll find them, don't panic." He was trying hard to rein in some panic of his own. Dean was nowhere to be found, not slumped against a tree and not stalking around the perimeter of the clearing to check for danger. He was just gone.

Bowman wasn't in sight, either, but he'd be harder to find. Out in the woods, he was built to blend in from his leafy wings to his willowy frame.

Jacob lifted a hand, ready to sweep it back through his hair, and then froze, staring at his palm. "Fuck _dammit,_ " whispered out of him, and he lowered the hand again, staring down at it. The last thing he remembered was Bowman, curled up right on that same hand, hiding from the world while he dealt with Rischa's disappearance.

Now, there was a tiny black mark like some kind of ink where his best friend had been. He let his hand drop down to the ground near where Sam paced, his eyes wide. "Sam ... is that...?"

Sam froze at the sight, his mind spinning. He ran closer to Jacob’s hand, _needing_ to get a closer look at the ink blot.

It was the same symbol, down to the last curve, only this time the ink was embedded into Jacob’s skin like a tattoo. _He needs to wash that out,_ Sam’s mind supplied inanely, but the rest of him was thinking one thing. “This thing’s supposed to go after _children,_ ” Sam breathed. “How’s it changing victims? How’s it picking and choosing?”

He stalked away from Jacob, looking desperately around. “Where’s Dean? Can you see where he fell? Is he hurt?”

Jacob drew his hand back again, closing it into a fist as he looked over his shoulder. He didn't know exactly how that symbol worked, but he wasn't keen on keeping it exposed near Sam, just in case it still worked. He would be all on his own if that happened, with no way to help.

Scanning the area near the duffel, he confirmed again that Dean wasn't there, lying in the grass.

"Dean's, um," he said, facing Sam. Noticing how little the guy looked, walking among blades of grass. "I don't see him around here, either," he admitted. "Just his bag."

Sam took a few deep breaths, halting in place. “Okay. Okay. Just gotta focus and figure this out.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam closed his eyes in concentration. He didn’t need to look to know Jacob was watching him. “Dean wouldn’t just leave us here. He wouldn’t leave _me,_ and he sure as hell wouldn’t leave me collapsed in the grass out of sight.”

Every word that passed through Sam’s lips made his heart dip a little lower, but gave him back the focus he’d lacked ever since waking up collapsed on the forest floor. “Whatever hit us, must have hit Dean the most. Bowman was teleported away, and Dean--”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Dean could have been teleported just like the sprites, or he could have been attacked, which meant there was a possibility--

_No._ Sam forced the thought from his mind. Dean was fine. Wherever he was, he would figure it out and get back to them. “Jacob, do you have your phone with you? Try giving Dean a call!”

"Right," Jacob replied, fumbling at his pocket. He glanced over to the duffel again as he got his hand around the small plastic device, drawing it out into the light. It didn't make _sense_ that Dean would have been affected by whatever took the sprites away. He was twenty times their size.

Jacob was distracted as he flipped the phone open and searched for Dean's number in his recent list to call it, running on autopilot. He hit **Call** before he fully registered what he was trying to do.

He didn't get the phone next to his ear before the sound of a faint guitar riff started up in the clearing. The sound was out of place, filtering out of the grass somewhere near the duffel bag. Left behind with the rest of Dean's stuff.

Jacob stared in that direction for a beat before returning his gaze to Sam once again. The guitar ringtone continued, clashing with the forest surroundings, while Jacob silently hoped Sam knew what to try next.

Sam had to tear his gaze away from where the phone was before he could think again. Whatever had knocked Sam and Jacob out had taken Dean away. It was impossible to deny the evidence.

They wouldn’t find Dean here, just like Bowman couldn’t have found Rischa in the village.

Meanwhile, Jacob was looking to Sam for guidance, and Sam needed to keep going. For Dean. If they could get to the bottom of this, the trail might lead back to Dean. Or he might come strolling right into the motel room during research with some wild tale of how he’d found the sprites and rescued everyone after his abduction.

Sam rubbed his head. _Focus._ First things first. Before they could get there, he and Jacob needed to actually _get_ there, and that meant getting out of the forest.

“We need to get back to the room,” Sam affirmed, locking his gaze with Jacob. “If Dean escapes or needs to find his way back, he’s sure as hell not gonna find us in the forest. He’s a tracker, not a survival expert. He’ll head for the motel.” Sam couldn’t say just what led him to that conclusion aside from the fact that he _knew_ Dean, and he knew how he thought.

Sam waved an arm towards the source of the guitar riff he knew so well. “We can’t leave his stuff behind.”

Jacob nodded, listening intently. Of the two of them, Sam had much more knowledge on what could be going on. All Jacob knew was that his friend, if he was around, would already have fluttered up to him to scold him for something. Jacob had never thought he would _miss_ that little voice piping up in annoyance.

"Okay, I'll grab his stuff," he said, closing his phone with a snap. The guitar riff cut off with it, leaving them with only the sounds of the forest.

Before he could bring himself to go retrieve Dean's stuff, Jacob focused on Sam. The little guy looked so out of place down in the grass. He definitely wasn't walking back to the car on his own.

Wherever Dean was, Jacob could just picture his glare if anything happened to Sam. He wouldn't let anything befall the smaller Winchester, if he could help it. _Gotta get him off the ground..._ he thought. Unsure if he should say something first, Jacob lowered his unmarked hand to the ground, palm up.

"Ready?" he asked, trying for a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Jacob gotta help each other out, with their sassier counterparts missing in action.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** July 8th, 2020 at 9pm.


	11. The Great Impala Break-In

Sam found himself hesitating, suddenly uncertain about putting himself into the hands of someone he’d only officially _met_ that morning. Before then, they’d talked on the phone twice with Jacob, once to confirm Bowman’s story and again when Jacob let them know about the vanishing children.  
  
 _Dean’s not here,_ Sam scolded himself. _You need to give Jacob a chance._  
  
With that, Sam’s resolve strengthened again. He’d stood in Jacob’s hands once before with Bowman. They were just as safe as Dean’s. Even when Jacob went to snatch Sam away from his face, he was only curled into a gentle fist. Dean had done the same on occasion.  
  
Sam stepped up onto Jacob’s hand, testing his weight on the unfamiliar texture of the teenager’s palm. It was so different than Dean’s; much larger but also much softer, lacking the calluses formed by years of hunting and car repair, scars of battle covering the surface. Jacob had quite a few years to go before he caught up to Dean.  
  
It was a hand that didn’t belong to Dean or Bobby. Sam had _never_ willingly stepped into a stranger’s hand like this, and he didn’t count earlier with Bowman. His mind was focused on one thing that time, that his friend needed help. Now, it was all he could think about. For so long, he’d never trusted anyone else with his life in their hands. Often with good reason, considering his experiences.  
  
There wasn’t much time to waste, so Sam didn’t linger on the palm. He was there just long enough to examine the surface with a critical eye, then darted over Jacob’s thick wrist and began to climb the muscular arm. Sam didn’t say a word until he reached Jacob’s shoulder, taking his place where he felt most comfortable. He squatted down and gripped the hoodie fabric for balance. “Ready!” he chirped.  
  
Jacob was so shocked by Sam's actions that his hand remained down on the forest floor for an extra second or two. The feel of those tiny boots on his palm had only lasted a second before it was gone because Sam had _scaled his arm._ It was so outside of his normal, he was frozen trying to come up with a reaction.  
  
Bowman had perched on his shoulder plenty of times, but that always came with a flutter of wings. More often than not, it also came with a wing slapping his neck. Bowman didn’t usually settle in either, instead flitting off again within moments.  
  
"Um. Okay," Jacob said, remembering himself. He at least knew better than to turn his head to try to look at his tiny passenger. Couldn't risk knocking the little guy down when he didn't have wings to save himself.  
  
Jacob hesitated, and then pushed himself up to a stand. He paused before turning, more alert than ever to a small voice calling out for him to stop moving. When it didn't come, he turned towards Dean's abandoned stuff, shuffling over to it to see what was there for him to carry.  
  
He finally got a view of what clattered so loudly in that bag. The top zipper, partially opened, revealed the unmistakable handle of a gun. Jacob knelt down and nudged the bag open to peek curiously into it.  
  
"Oh," he said aloud, surprised and almost sheepish by what he found within. "A sawed off shotgun. And a machete ... and peanut M&Ms. So the essentials." _Good thing my stepdad isn't here._   
  
Sam didn’t notice the odd tone of voice Jacob had as he revealed the weapons, just nodding along understandingly. “Can’t be too careful on a hunt,” Sam agreed. “Dean had his handgun and a few smaller weapons concealed on him, but the heavier weapons stay in the duffel until they’re needed.” He managed a grin and gestured at the M&Ms. “You can tell he’s not the _best_ at preparing for a hike, though.”  
  
A thought came to Sam. “Can you see if there’s any symbols around here? One that … might have hit Dean?”  
  
"Oh, yeah," Jacob said, trying to keep up with the little guy on his shoulder. He spotted Dean's phone in the grass and moved it to a side pouch on the duffel bag before zipping the whole thing up and hiding those weapons from sight again. Weapons that Sam so casually explained away as if they were an umbrella or an extra pen.  
  
With that done, he turned his attention to the ground around the duffel bag, cautiously kneeling down so he could see it without throwing Sam off his shoulder.  
  
"Stop me if you notice anything," he said, before brushing his hand over stalks of grass, pushing them out of the way while he searched for any sign of the same tiny mark that stained his own palm.  
  
Sam watched as Jacob worked, equally intent on where those huge hands moved. The morning (afternoon?) sun overhead was welcome, even for a small guy who was more adjusted to living in the walls. It was bright enough that Sam’s eyes were strained by the light, but he _needed_ to find Dean, and that need drove him to ignore the discomfort.  
  
When Jacob’s hand brushed past the tuft of grass near where the phone had lay hidden, Sam almost leapt forward. “There!” he called, his arm shooting out to point at the spot. Only an inch away from the depression in the dirt from the weight of the phone, almost invisible if one didn’t know what to look for. A symbol the same size as the one that had affected the sprites.  
  
Jacob restrained a flinch. His heart leapt up into his throat, thinking Sam was about to tumble right off his shoulder in his excitement, and Jacob wasn't confident that he'd be able to catch the little guy without hurting him. If anything happened to Sam, the first thing Dean would do when they found him would be to have Jacob's hide. He was sure of it.  
  
Resisting the urge to lift up his hand to check that Sam was secure, Jacob instead turned his palm over so he could see the mark inked onto him. It was the same size as the tiny smudge in the dirt.  
  
"So ..." Jacob floundered for the answer, for some reason Dean had disappeared with the same mark left as evidence. Bowman made more sense, being the same species as the other victims. "So this thing changed its pattern all of a sudden, but why now? If it wants sprites, Bowman made sense, but Dean ... he could be kicking its ass as we speak for all we know."  
  
“God, I hope so,” Sam muttered. If Dean was kicking the monster’s ass, this could all be over by dinnertime. “But there might be a reason it changed patterns… Bowman’s not a kid, either. So _he_ doesn’t fit in anymore than Dean does, really. Not with the way the supernatural usually works in patterns.  
  
“It’s how we track monsters. They have regular hunting patterns, or go for a certain type of victim. So for it to switch from sprite children to an adult, just like that, is just as odd as it hitting Dean.” Sam frowned. “What really bothers me is Dean’s so much _bigger_ than they are. You would think the spell’s power wouldn’t be enough to drag him along. Or… maybe…” Sam grew more hesitant as he mulled over the disturbing thought that arose. “Maybe it was after me, and got him instead. If it did, I hope he’s giving them hell.”  
  
Jacob's brow pinched with worry. He couldn't help but think of how different things would be that moment if it had been _Sam_ and not Dean who disappeared. Not nearly as calm, that was for certain.  
  
He had no idea what kind of danger Bowman or the sprite children had been zapped away to, but there was some hope in his chest. Maybe Dean would be just the surprise they needed to throw this thing off its game before anyone else got hurt.  
  
"Maybe," he said. Then, Jacob opted to stand, once again moving with a certain respect for the man perched on his shoulder. He took the duffel bag with him, and smudged the mark out of the dirt with the toe of his boot while he thought.  
  
He was far out of his element, but somehow he'd had the luck not to be left all alone. He had Sam around to help guide him through it. He was small, but he was Jacob's expert. "I guess we should keep with the original plan and get back, see if there's a way to find out what did this..."  
  
“And get that mark off your palm,” Sam finished insistently. “If this thing can teleport a human Dean's size away, there's not much of a jump to being able to teleport _you_ , and then where would I be?”  
  
It was a disturbing thought for Sam. Trapped, out in the woods beyond the reach of the human world… The sprites were sticking close to their village right now, there might not even be a chance of him being rescued before a wild animal chanced upon him, and not all animals would react like Rumsfeld.  
  
There was no way for Sam to reach the Impala like this, not without days of walking out in the open. His one true haven from the world, warded and safe while he came up with a plan.  
  
“We need to get back to the room, get that mark off you, and find out what this thing is.” Sam reiterated their plan, imbuing his determination into the words. “We're going to bring them all home. Safe.”  
  
Sam tilted his head up at the sky, staring at the clouds that were beginning to gather.  
  
 _Dean, where are you?_  
  
Jacob didn't like the thought of someone Sam's size being stuck out in the woods on their own, either. It wasn't even safe for someone human sized, if they didn't know what they were doing. Dehydration, wild animals, and exposure were all much bigger threats for the sprites, but they had wings to carry them home.  
  
Sam ... all Sam had was Jacob right now. Brushing his hand over his jeans, Jacob checked the mark on his palm. It wasn't gone, but the ink streaked and smudged. It would have to be good enough until he got out of the woods.  
  
He shot one glance across the clearing in the direction of the village, and then shifted Dean's duffel bag full of weapons on his shoulder. He had to continue his trek back and hope nothing else big happened back there.  
  


* * *

  
By the time the Impala came into sight between the trees ahead, the sun was warm overhead. Jacob had grown used to the tiny weight on his shoulder, barely noticeable unless he paid attention. Sam was a quieter passenger than Bowman. Even Rischa, when she landed on him, had more questions.  
  
Pausing several paces away from the huge, shining black car, Jacob ignored the faint clatter of weapons in the duffel bag. "Crap," he muttered. "I'm gonna guess you don't have a spare key hidden in your bag."  
  
Sam couldn’t quite conceal a short bark of laughter at the idea of having a spare key. “I, uh, think the key is _bigger_ than my bag, so no,” he said, catching his breath from the sudden entertainment. The only key that Sam kept in his satchel opened the panic room under the seat, and he kept it secret out of habit and from all the times Dean drilled it into him that it was his last refuge and needed to stay hidden from everyone.  
  
Still, despite the chuckles Sam got out of the idea of him keeping a spare to the car, he could see the conundrum before them. He could get in, but Jacob--  
  
Wait. That was it.  
  
Sam patted Jacob’s neck reassuringly. “Can ya drop me on the ground next to the car?” he asked. “Closer to the back tires. I think I can get us inside without having to break in.”  
  
The little pat on his neck was so faint, Jacob almost missed it thinking about what Sam asked. His brow pinched in mild confusion. The expression might become a common one for him while he got used to Sam. He was so different from all the little folk Jacob had met before. He was closer to the wraith sprites that had moved into Wellwood, just as flightless, but Jacob wasn't used to _them_ either.  
  
"Alright, just a sec," he replied, giving the little guy the benefit of the doubt. It wasn't like he had any better ideas about getting into the car.  
  
Dropping the duffel bag off by the driver side door, Jacob wandered to the back of the car. Nothing revealed itself back there, but he crouched down anyway; if he could avoid breaking into Dean's car, he'd take any option. He didn't want to earn more ire from a guy who killed monsters on the regular.  
  
 _Now what_ flitted briefly across Jacob's mind. He wasn't sure if he should let Sam climb back down his arm, or offer him a hand. Just from watching Dean interact with his little brother, they'd used both methods interchangeably and without prompting. Just like Jacob knew when Bowman was likely to land on his offered hand, Dean seemed to know when he ought to offer Sam help getting around.  
  
He ended up bracing one hand on the ground, while the other lifted partway to his shoulder. "Want a hand down, or...?"  
  
“Sure, whatever.” Sam straightened his satchel in preparation, then stepped lightly into Jacob’s palm once more.  
  
This time, Sam directed Jacob on where to lower him down, pointing out the ground directly next to the rear driver’s side tire. That would put him closest to his panic room entrance and shorten the journey.  
  
From down on the ground next to the tire, Sam saw a rare perspective of the Impala-- his home. She loomed overhead, all shadows underneath and chrome overhead throwing the sunlight back at Jacob. It could have been an intimidating scene, the ceiling over Sam’s head a confusing landscape of car parts that only Dean knew how to navigate, but instead Sam felt safe here. The Impala was as much his as it was Dean’s, as Dean insisted whenever he was working on her.  
  
Sam turned back to Jacob. “I’m going to open the door on the driver’s side to let you in, okay?” he said seriously. “It’ll be a few minutes, but I’ll get there.”  
  
Turning away, Sam let his hand slip into his bag and grip the hook by habit, the familiar curves and metal that was cool to the touch reassuring him. When the opening to his entrance was overhead, he sized it up, aiming carefully before he launched the hook over his head.  
  
Jacob jolted at the sight of that mean-looking little fishhook soaring into the air. His lips parted and he lowered his head so he could see the underbelly of the car easier. To his astonishment, the hook caught on a small, nondescript opening in the metal, and the line pulled taut in Sam's grip.  
  
 _Holy shit,_ Jacob thought, an amazed smile sneaking onto his face. He couldn't help it. That was _badass._  
  
While Sam scurried up the climbing line like it was as easy as breathing, Jacob watched in awed silence. Bowman would never be able to do something like that. He had enough trouble climbing on the fabric of Jacob's hoodie and had to be rescued if he fell into the hood itself. Jacob doubted Sam would have the same trouble with it.  
  
Despite knowing it was rude to stare, Jacob kept his eyes on Sam's progress until the small form disappeared into the opening. Once he was out of sight, it was like he'd never been there. Jacob pushed himself up and brushed off his hands, marvelling at what he'd just seen. If he were to look under the car again, he would almost miss that little opening.  
  
Cars weren't supposed to have tiny entrances like that, but it wasn't the first surprise he'd gotten from the brothers. It wasn't even the _strangest_ surprise. Jacob returned to his feet and made his way to the driver door, peeking in the windows and wondering if he'd catch sight of Sam walking around in there.  
  


* * *

  
It was about three minutes before there was any movement inside of the Impala.   
  
Sam was able to get into his panic room from the bottom of the car, making his way up the long tunnel that stretched from close to the rear tailpipe all the way to directly under Dean’s seat. From there Sam walked out from under the seats, gauging the distance to one of the seatbelts draped off the edge and hitting his mark on the first try.  
  
Sam almost didn’t notice the feather-light touch of Jacob’s gaze this time, the human spotting him from the outside of the car. He was completely focused, untangling the hook from the seatbelt the moment he reached the seat of the car. He had a goal, and nothing stood between him and it now.  
  
One last toss of the hook and Sam grinned triumphantly. He was able to reach the driver’s side window, clambering up next to the door lock, jammed down by Dean when they exited the car earlier that day.  
  
Sam braced his back against the window, wrapping his hands firmly around the door lock before giving it one hard yank up. The resistance in it gave at his pull, and the door was unlocked.  
  
Turning to face Jacob, Sam gave him two thumbs up before scaling quickly down his thread to the seat and twitching the hook and line free so Jacob could open the door.  
  
Jacob made doubly sure that Sam was out of range before he put his hand on the car. The door swung open with a creak of metal and released hot air from within. With its black paint job, the Impala had absorbed summer heat like a sponge.  
  
Jacob paid that no mind, instead offering Sam a grin. He was endlessly fascinated seeing someone so small and yet so familiar with human technology. Cars were not meant for people Sam's size, but he navigated it like a pro anyway. Recalling that the Winchesters travelled a lot to find the monsters they had to take out, it made sense.  
  
"Awesome," Jacob said, leaning slightly to glance over the console before he crouched closer to Sam's level. "Is there an extra key in the glovebox or something?"  
  
There was a wry smile on Sam’s face at the thought. “Dean’s not trusting enough to leave something as important as the keys to the Impala anywhere easy to reach,” he said.  
  
Mulling over their conundrum, Sam wandered across the seat, sizing up what they had to work with. If he remembered what tools Dean had in the trunk, they might be able to work through their conundrum without breaking a sweat. Maybe. It all depended on what Jacob could do and what Sam remembered.  
  
Putting his hands on his hips, Sam looked up at Jacob. “You ever hotwire a car before?” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Dean knew about this, he'd be yelling, Sam.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** July 12th, 2020 at 9pm.


	12. Kinship

Jacob chuckled quietly, but it didn't last long. The look on Sam's face said that he was _not_ joking about what he asked. Jacob's gaze flickered to the steering column of the car and back to Sam, processing what he'd just been asked. What it implied.  
  
After seeing a sawed-off shotgun in Dean's bag, he shouldn't be so surprised, but he was.  
  
"What, n-no," he stammered, nonplussed. Of all the solutions Sam could have suggested, Jacob never expected one like this. "Have _you_ ever hotwired a car before?"  
  
“Well, no,” Sam couldn’t hold in a laugh as he shot down that idea. The _thought_ of hotwiring a car at his size was imposing enough. The footwell on the driver’s side was massive, and Sam would have to dangle from a thread to even be able to reach. Dean had sternly told Sam what to _not_ attempt-- namely, anything that could cause a spark. He was small enough that the voltage could kill him. “I’m a little too short to reach the wires. But Dean’s got plenty of tools in the trunk, and he taught me how. So we can get the car started, if you just do everything I say.”  
  
"Uh. Okay," Jacob replied, still staring at Sam and making no moves. _Holy. Shit._ Not only was he thinking about stealing someone's car, he was going to take instructions on how to do it from someone that fit in his pocket. Someone who'd just had to strain to pull up the lock on the car door was more prepared to take off with that car than Jacob was.  
  
He tried not to think about how defensive Dean had been about the car earlier. Or how many weapons he had.  
  
"Okay," he echoed, searching for the trunk release. When he found it, he tugged the little lever and then offered the same hand to Sam. His smile was sheepish. "I definitely don't know what I'm looking for."  
  
Sam jumped into the hand with much less hesitation this time, pausing to pat one of Jacob’s fingers as he passed by. “We’ll figure out Dean’s organizational strategy together,” Sam said wryly. “Pretty sure about ninety percent of it is whatever he’s got in hand first goes into the trunk first.”  
  
It was a bit slower that he climbed to Jacob’s shoulder this time, still talking. “In fact, whatever we do in there can’t _possibly_ make it messier. If you put _me_ down in there, I might not make it out again.” No matter how many times Dean protested Sam’s comments about the disaster zone known as their trunk, Sam always got away with them. Though he _was_ missing Dean’s snappy comebacks.  
  
Jacob snickered. "I'll avoid that just to save time, then," he quipped back. Once he felt Sam reach his shoulder, he rose to his feet yet again. At least he didn't get scolded nonstop while he was still figuring all this out. Bowman would have lectured him by now.  
  
Grabbing the duffel bag, Jacob brought it back to the trunk to stow it away while they were there. Ever mindful of Sam on his shoulder, he lifted the lid of the trunk.  
  
And nearly sputtered out a swear. "Oh. There's a couple more weapons in here," he commented as casually as he could. "That's... wow. So we don't need those for this, at least, what am I after?"  
  
Sam rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “We come packing,” he said in agreement, his eyes briefly falling on Dean’s sniper rifle, and he figured Jacob didn’t need to know about the _grenade launcher_ hidden beneath the rest. “You can see why Dean hates leaving the Impala behind.”  
  
For a moment, Sam fell silent, scanning the contents of the trunk. He was so used to Dean just going in and getting what he needed, it was jarring to be the one in charge. Yet, he found he didn’t mind it so much. As long as he pushed his constant, nagging worry for Dean aside. They couldn’t do Dean any good if Sam didn’t focus, and that’s what he did.  
  
“There,” Sam pointed. “In the back, behind the blanket. The tools’ll be in there, and grab a knife. You’ll need that. Just don’t grab the machete, you need something precise.”  
  
Jacob once again found himself pausing to really process what Sam said. His eyes lingered on the weapons he could see, and he had to wonder what else he'd find under the false bottom of the trunk if he really looked. Because it had one of those.  
  
 _Jesus._  
  
He worked past the shock to lean in and grab the tool kit Sam had pointed out, all while making sure he didn't tilt Sam's perch too much. With the tools set aside, he found the catch for the false bottom with Sam’s guidance and lifted it up. Not surprisingly, it was layered with all kinds of weapons (including the extra machete).  
  
Once he had what he needed, Jacob glanced over the small _arsenal_ before he covered the false bottom again, stowed the duffel bag in the trunk, and closed the lid. They had work to do, and he couldn't dwell too much on the volume of weapons right now. Not dwelling on it also happened to remove his nerves about the fact that he was about to hotwire the Impala.  
  
He made his way back to the driver's side and set the tools down on the leather seat. "Alright ... we have the tools. Where do you wanna ...?" Jacob tried to catch a glimpse of Sam in the corner of his eye to get an idea of where he'd want to be while Jacob tried to work.  
  
“Here.” Sam slid down Jacob’s arm to the seat, quickly weaving his way past the tools. He needed to find a good place to survey Jacob’s work, one where he wouldn’t be in the way of the massive teenager.  
  
“It’s been about a year since I learned, but I remember everything Dean said.” Sam knelt down on the bench seat, finding a spot in the center near the edge that was perfect for his purposes. “First things first, you’ll want to pop off the panel under the seat to see what we’re working with.”  
  
Jacob decided to just go with what Sam told him. It saved him the time spent marveling over what he was hearing. Someone smaller than his finger was about to walk him through something very illegal, something he'd never once thought about doing. He even managed to set aside thoughts of his stepdad, a police officer, and what he'd say if he found out.  
  
With Sam on the seat, Jacob had to lean into the footwell of the car from the ground outside. For someone his size, it didn't make much difference; he was cramped.  
  
After groping around in the dim lighting, he found the edge of the panel and wrenched it free, praying the sound of it popping loose was normal and didn't mean he'd broken something. Wires were revealed, and he grazed his fingertips over some of them before glancing back at Sam expectantly.  
  
  
Sam frowned as he looked over the wires, calling to mind the lessons Dean had given him so long ago. Back then, it was just an exercise for the brothers, a chance to really bond. Growing up, Dean never had the chance to ‘show Sam the ropes,’ so when opportunity came knocking, he took advantage.   
  
While Dean learned how to repair cars and kill monsters, Sam had been taught about staying out of sight. How to avoid notice when you were trapped out in plain view. The best method to tap into a hot water pipe without causing it to leak so no plumber was called. Anytime the motel had repairs going, Walt would remove his modifications from anywhere visible, and replace them afterwards.  
  
Learning about everything his brother did was a balm for Sam, a way to regain some of his lost humanity. Today he was going to demonstrate that he _did_ know what he was doing, even if he was too small to do it himself.  
  
Pointing out three specific wires that he recognized from the rambling exposition Dean had given (nothing made the man more eloquent than talking about his favorite pastime), Sam had Jacob prep the wires _precisely_ the way Dean had demonstrated. “Watch out for sparks,” Sam warned as they reached the final step.  
  
Jacob shifted to relieve some of the strain on his back from leaning into the car the way he was. He kept the right wires pinched in his fingertips, careful to keep them separate from each other until he was ready. He didn't want to make himself flinch in this position. There were too many things to knock his head on, and he'd most likely end up knocking Sam over.  
  
He hesitated to bring the wires together like Sam had explained to him. Part of him expected nothing to happen, and another part of him was ready to flinch away if the wires shocked him. Jacob had only ever seen this done in movies, and the actors made it look a lot simpler. He'd never even considered doing something like this.  
  
Yet he'd also never considered that sprites could exist before he found Bowman sneaking around his campsite years back. Jacob sighed and put the ends of the wires together.  
  
The engine, well cared for by Dean's diligent work, rumbled and roared to life. A grin flashed onto Jacob's face. He extracted himself from the footwell of the car to observe the dials of the car coming to life, needles quivering as they pointed to the right numbers.  
  
The pride was short lived. His grin became sheepish. "So," he began, looking to Sam again, "how pissed off do you think Dean's gonna be that I just hotwired his car?"  
  
Sam thought it over, then have a half-shrug. “He… won’t be thrilled,” Sam admitted. No one cared for their car more than Dean cared for his Impala. Sometimes Sam found himself wondering if Dean would date her if he could. He certainly spent enough time up to his elbows in engine grease.  
  
“Don’t worry about Dean though, okay?” Sam said soothingly. “It’s been a rough week for us, and he’s… not really taking it well.” He stared down at the seat, scuffing a boot against the leather surface. He knew it was pointless to hide what had happened to them, yet something in him had a hard time getting it out into the open air.  
  
A part of Sam insisted that if he just ignored the facts and pretended like nothing happened, it would all go away. John would be alive and Sam could reassure his father again that he didn’t blame him for the curse. John always listened as well as Dean, but Sam _needed_ them to both understand he didn’t blame them and never would.  
  
“It’ll take some time before he’s back to normal... We just... had to... bury our father before you called us.” There. It was out in the open, an ache of pain almost burning a hole in Sam’s chest.  
  
The revelation stung, somewhere in Jacob's core. His smile faded and he went through the recent memories of earlier. Dean's short temper with Jacob, an outsider, made much more sense. He'd lost his dad, and Jacob, well-meaning or not, had been the one to interrupt his mourning.  
  
A twine choker with a green bead, usually so light and easy to forget he even had it on, became a noticeable weight. Jacob barely refrained from reaching up to brush at the tiny piece of glass as empathy settled in. He knew all too well what it was like to lose a father. To feel angry at everything around him.  
  
It wasn't _fair_ that the world kept turning after someone so important was gone.  
  
And now Sam, so soon after losing his dad, was missing his brother. Jacob didn't know how much other family they had, but it didn't sound like a lot.  
  
"Man, I'm ... I'm sorry. Losing your dad isn't easy," Jacob said gently. "Believe me, I get it." He held out a hand for Sam and offered a lighter smile, something respectful of the information Sam could have hidden, but had willingly given. "Guess we better go find that brother of yours, what do you say?"  
  
“Yeah…” Sam actively tried to shake off the melancholy that had fallen over him at the reminder. “We need to get him back… I…” Sam trailed off, losing his train of thought partway through. He rubbed his face, stepping on to Jacob’s hand. “Dean’s always been there for me, he’s always looked out for me, and now… I think he needs me more than ever, and I don’t even know where he is…”  
  
Sam realized too late how much he was talking, and clammed up, flushing. Normally he didn’t even share that much with _Dean,_ but something about Jacob, his easy understanding and warm nature, just made Sam want to open up to him. The kid might have been the largest person Sam had ever interacted with in his life, but that made little difference once Sam adjusted fully.  
  
“Thanks,” Sam finished softly, starting his way up Jacob’s arm at a much more subdued pace than before.  
  
Jacob didn't say a word, letting Sam move at the pace he wanted. He couldn't bring himself to say anything right away. Words that he wasn't sure he was supposed to hear hung in the air, a quiet note of desperation in them.  
  
Sam's determination helped to ignite Jacob's own. His best friend, small and vulnerable no matter how much he flared his wings and snapped back at people bigger, was in danger too. All of the sprites, innocent people who kept to themselves, were at risk. Bowman and Dean disappearing was proof that this thing didn't _have_ to steal only the sprite children.  
  
He waited until Sam was situated once more before pushing the tools across the bench seat so he could climb into the driver's seat of the car. This was not how he thought he'd have a chance to drive a car this nice. As he adjusted the bench so he wasn't squashed in the seat, Jacob could just picture the _look_ he'd earn from Dean.  
  
 _Might be taller, dude, but it's not on purpose._  
  
Jacob put the car in gear at last, and the Impala left the forest under the control of a temporary new driver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob had a lot in common with the Winchesters, and Sam's taken him under his wing.
> 
> Dean, meanwhile, can feel footsteps on his grave every time they do something to the Impala (j/k... but what if?)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** July 15th, 2020 at 9pm.


	13. Regroup

As the Impala rolled into the parking lot of the motel, Jacob glanced around conspiratorially.The small weight of Sam on his shoulder became more and more obvious the closer to the motel they came. This was where Sam was _used_ to being, despite everything being so much bigger. Jacob couldn't deny he was fascinated.  
  
Still, as he parked the car next to his much less cared for one, he paused. A glance down at his chest reminded him that he didn't have a front pocket for Sam to hide in (unless he wanted to go in a hoodie pocket).  
  
"Looks pretty deserted outside," he commented casually. "Wanna just chill there or get out of sight?"  
  
Sam jolted slightly, coming out of the numbing blankness he’d fallen into, thoughts of Dean and their dad keeping him company in limbo while Jacob drove back to the motel.  
  
With an attempt to focus, Sam glanced around the parking lot, noting it was just as Jacob claimed. “I’ll stay here,” he decided. “I can always duck out of sight if I feel anyone about to look. There’s plenty of cover with your hoodie.”  
  
Sam slouched down, using the folds to make a place to vanish into if he had to, then jumped back up with an “Oh!” as he remembered one last detail. Another thing that Dean always took care of. “There’s another bag in the backseat you should grab. It has my stuff and Dean’s laptop in it, we can’t leave it in the car.”  
  
"You bet," Jacob said with a nod. After making sure he killed the Impala's engine the way Sam had mentioned in his instructions earlier, he opened up the door. It immediately put him on guard when fresh air washed over the pair. Anyone could pop out of a motel room down the row and look over at them.  
  
Jacob retrieved the extra bag and then paused, catching up with something Sam had said before glossing over it quickly. ‘ _If I feel anyone about to look?!_ ’ Jacob caught sight of his own confused expression in the window of the driver door before making his way to the motel room. He could contemplate that once they were safely out of sight.  
  
"And here we are," he muttered as the door opened and admitted them to safety. His eyes first went to the curtains, double checking that they were closed. With Dean missing, it was up to Jacob to keep Sam's secret.  
  
Sam nodded sharply to himself, satisfied. “Let me off at the table and I can get to work,” he said, his mind whirling into overdrive as he considered everything Dean would do when they first arrived in a room, combined with what he’d do. “I can use the laptop fine if you set it up for me, start looking for some sign of this symbol. And Dean’s got a notebook in his bag he uses, I can draw a bigger version of the symbol so you can look for it too, without needing a microscope.”  
  
Which reminded Sam of the one Jacob had etched into his skin. “Be sure to wash yours off,” he chided lightly, keeping his worry contained and locked away. “Can’t have you zapping off to join the others.”  
  
All that said, and Sam had to keep going as he listed off the rest of what they needed to do to get the room set. “My bed and belongings are in the bag. If you get a chance, Dean usually sets them up under the nightstand, and uses the books to conceal them from view. Then, all you’ll need to do is put salt in front of any entrances to the room and we should be good to go.”  
  
Thoughts of asking Sam about his supposed ability to know when someone looked at him were shoved aside. "You ... uh. Right." Jacob tried to commit the list of instructions to memory even as he set the bag on the table so he could offer the little guy a hand. He wanted to ask what the hell the salt was for, but bit his tongue.  
  
Once Sam was down on the surface of the table, Jacob opened the bag to find the aforementioned laptop. He set it down and opened the top, marveling that someone who could curl up to nap on the trackpad had instructed him to set it up. Usually, his encounters with smaller folk didn't involve much technology unless he wanted to hear all about how it had to be run by magic of some kind. Bowman didn't believe that something could run on the same energy that sparked in the sky during a storm.  
  
He also left Dean's notebook near the computer before taking the bag and stepping back. It was hard to look away from someone so small who didn't care how many _corners_ everything had.  
  
 _Why would he care? He's not a sprite, he's from places like this._  
  
In the end, Jacob tore his gaze away to get to the laundry list of tasks set out for him. The mark was easy to take care of. Soap and warm water was enough to scrub it away, and then he opted to look for Sam's stuff. The salt container was set aside with another skeptical look.  
  
Tiny furniture that'd fit on one hand was arranged under the nightstand and hidden by books, all with sporadic glances back at the table. Sam took to his own work with ease, actually hopping on the keys to type. Jacob stared until he remembered this apparent ability Sam might have, and looked away to nudge the last things into place.  
  
Next, the salt. _Why salt?_ He held the container in one hand, reading the label to divine some secret from it while he wandered back to the door. A dubious look aimed Sam's way.   
  
Sam, naturally, knew exactly when Jacob was looking at him and when the teenager was working through the normal chores Dean did whenever they got a new motel room. For himself, Sam had the laptop booting up and pulled out his journal, leaving it at the edge of the keyboard near Dean’s notebook so he could sketch out a larger version of the symbol, which he was beginning to contemplate doing while the older laptop wheezed its way through startup. If the computer was old when Dean had first caught Sam in his motel room and their abrupt reunion began, it had to be _ancient_ now.  
  
At least that’s what he was _planning_ on doing, until he realized that Jacob had stopped in place, Sam’s knack making the hairs on the back of his neck rise up when the teenager glanced at him.  
  
Sam turned in place, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow to see Jacob just standing there with the salt. “Are you just gonna stand there and smell the daisies?” Sam asked testily. He mimed pouring salt in front of the door, shaking an invisible container in a line to demonstrate what he meant. “Salt in front of the door and windows, and do a line across the vent for good measure. We need to keep out what we can, considering how this case _started._ ”  
  
Jacob's eyebrows shot up and a bemused blush colored his cheeks. The scolding didn't tell him anything more about why he needed to set down salt. It looked like plain, normal _salt._ It felt like missing a day of class and losing out on key information that everyone else had.  
  
At least being scolded by someone smaller than his hand was familiar.  
  
Jacob shrugged sheepishly and mimicked Sam's motions with the salt container. The salt poured out of the container in a wavery line in front of the door, and then the window sills got the same treatment. He even made lines across the vents without pause, though he did send Sam a confused glance as he did. There certainly wouldn't be any _slugs_ sneaking into the room.  
  
"Think I got 'em all," he announced, returning to the table. He wasn't sure if he should take a seat yet, so he stood back awkwardly.  
  
"Anything else I'm supposed to do? I know I'm not really in the know on this ... monster hunting stuff, but if I can help, I want to."  
  
Sam looked around the room, mentally tallying up what Dean would normally do and comparing it to what they had now. “No, I think you’re good right now,” Sam said with a sigh. _How’s Dean handle all this so smoothly all the time?_  
  
Achingly, he wondered where Dean was that second, and what he was doing. It felt like every two seconds there was another reason for Sam to wonder and worry after his older brother, who’d vanished without a trace just like all the sprites.  
  
That brought to mind a point Sam had forgotten until just that second. “Dammit!” he exclaimed, smacking his forehead. “Dean had our dad’s journal in his jacket!” An invaluable source of information, gone the way of the hunter.  
  
Jacob winced. He didn't know how significant this journal was in the brothers' lives, but Sam's reaction gave him a clue. Since it was their dad's ... it could have anything in it and it was still important. They'd only just _lost_ him.  
  
"W-well," he said uncertainly, finally pulling out one of the chairs at the table. He sat down, but it was a rigid stance, ready to stand and fetch something if Sam sent him on another mission. "Maybe we don't have that but there's the internet. And ... would those old books in Dean's bag have anything, or are they just for hiding your stuff?"  
  
Sam shrugged. “Some might be useful,” he said, but his voice was doubtful. “I think most of them were from the case Dean found me on…” He trailed off at the memory. All those books on the table. The realization that with his brother around, he might be able to _read_ some of them.  
  
With Dean around, Sam could read whatever he wanted. He could probably even coax Dean into running to the library to pick up more books.  
  
 _Wait._  
  
Sam glanced up at Jacob, derailed from the realization that all those books were likely from a library and never returned. “Those books _might_ be useful, but we’ve got to broaden our search. We can call up our friend Bobby, he’s got the biggest library out there. Once he knows what’s going on--” Sam grabbed his pencil lead, starting to sketch out a larger sized symbol on the notebook so they could send an image to Bobby, “--he can start looking for it. And we can try the library in town later. There might be something there if this has happened before.”  
  
"Okay," Jacob replied, watching Sam's excited sketching closely. He could hardly keep up with whatever tracks Sam's mind was following. The little guy really was an expert at all of this, while Jacob was still wondering if the salt actually had a meaning or was mere superstition.  
  
"I can give this guy a call," he said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. The beat-up flip phone had a lot of the same character as his car outside. It wasn't fancy, but it worked, and that was enough for him. He flipped it open with a thumb and glanced over Sam's progress on the symbol.  
  
He couldn't help leaning in slightly to watch the strange shape take form. He made his best effort not to loom, but for someone his size, that was a losing battle.  
  
"Is he gonna know what that is? Is that common ... monster stuff?"  
  
“He’s an expert,” Sam called over his shoulder, judging the new sketch against his old one. He added a few lines, then started to shade in the center as best he could.  
  
While his arm moved rapidly from side to side, caught up in his full-body sketching, Sam told Jacob about their oldest friend, one of the few shared by both brothers. “Bobby Singer’s been hunting since before either of us were born. He helped our dad get the hang of it when he was starting out, and we probably owe him our lives a few times over.”   
  
The case with the doppelgänger rose to mind. Sam had thought he’d lost Dean for sure when a mimic of his older brother appeared at their room after Dean went out. Calling Bobby was a last ditch effort, one he wouldn’t have taken except for in the most dire situation. It was before Bobby knew Sam had survived, back when both brothers were leery of another hunter finding out about the cursed man.   
  
Bobby hadn’t let them down. Not only had he tracked Dean down effortlessly, he’d found Sam in the room, shocked to discover Dean was traveling with someone the size of his finger, and more than a little concerned that Sam was his captive. Bobby not only knew of people Sam’s size, but he'd worked with them before, and had won his way into Sam’s trust before long.  
  
Ever since then, Dean had allowed himself to loosen up a little around others. Sam had the chance to get to know one of their old friends from childhood, and Bobby was happy to let them stay at his home, going so far as to make a small room built just for Sam, so he’d feel at home there as much as Dean.  
  
Sam groped blindly for his journal, dragging it close as he put the finishing touches on the big symbol. He flipped the pages back to the beginning of the book, on the first page.  
  
One of the first things he’d scripted in, below _Sam Winchester. If lost, return to Dean Winchester_ was the phone numbers of the people he was close to. Dean’s. His dad’s. And Bobby’s.  
  
“Think you can snap a picture of the symbol?” Sam asked, looking up at Jacob after he’d located the number. “We can hold my journal open with the other symbol for size comparison, this’ll help him research.”  
  
Jacob nodded, poking at his phone to find the camera function, rarely used, among its menus. His eyes trailed over to the journal, an absolutely tiny book that would fit all too easily on his palm. He almost worried he'd tear the tiny, thin sheets of paper by looking at them too intently. He couldn't hope to read whatever was written on the pages.  
  
That, he realized, was another line on the list of big differences between Sam and the sprites. The simple, forest-dwelling folk seemed to understand the purpose of books, but they had their own method for writing things down. The trunk of the large cottonwood tree hid many winding passages, where the history of Wellwood was inked into the very walls. Jacob regretted being too big to ever see it.  
  
He focused on his phone again. Luckily, the basic camera would probably still pick up Sam's sketch well enough. He held the device up for emphasis.  
  
"You probably don't wanna be in the photo, right?" he asked with a faint smile. He remembered only one photograph of Bowman ever existing, and that single picture had nearly gotten the village of Wellwood taken away by a crazed human. One could never be too careful.  
  
“Probably.” Sam quickly smoothed his hands over the pages in his journal, forcing them to stay flat, then backed himself up to the edge of the laptop. “I might be safe since I stick with Dean most days, but we can’t put anyone else my size at risk. Can’t risk the secret getting out after what we’ve seen happen to them when it does.”  
  
That was one thing Jacob understood without explanation. He tried to keep any evidence of the sprites hidden, for their safety. They were too vulnerable; the children disappearing and the adults being unable to do _anything_ to go find them showcased that.  
  
He pondered what Sam said while he snapped the picture of the symbol and the tiny journal. He'd mentioned others his size, people who were small but weren't sprites of some kind. He'd also said Dean _found_ him on a case, and yet they were supposed to be brothers. A lot of mysteries surrounded Sam and Dean Winchester; before Jacob met them, he'd thought that was owed to Bowman's inability to explain things the right way.  
  
He saved the picture and pushed the thoughts aside. He was burning with curiosity, but there were more important matters. "Alright, I have it," he said. "What's the number I need to call to let him know we need his help?"  
  
Sam went back over to his journal, inordinately glad to scoop it back into his arms. With Dean missing, he wanted to cling to whatever he had of his older brother, and the bound leather journal with gold filigree on the pages was one of the few presents Sam had ever received.  
  
Going back to the beginning of the book once more, Sam propped it against his chest as he walked closer to Jacob. He read it out loud, watching Jacob’s fingers punch in the numbers as he spoke. “You’ll want me on the line,” Sam warned before Jacob hit **SEND**. “Bobby takes as kindly as Dean to strangers calling him.”  
  
Jacob smirked and let that be his show of understanding. He remembered his first phone call to the brothers, laced with distrust for him even _having_ their number until he revealed he was Bowman's friend.  
  
Then, of course, there was his more recent phone call. Jacob had deserved the attitude he got that time.  
  
After the phone was switched to speaker, the dial tone crackled out of the speakers. Jacob nudged the volume down a few notches before setting it on the table. Sam had small ears; he didn't need the volume at full blast to hear well enough.  
  
"Hopefully he's--” he began, before the distinct click of someone answering came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is putting every drop of information he's learned about hunting with Dean to good use here, and beware for Jacob if he doesn't follow through!
> 
> As much as Sam doubts himself at times, he's certainly come a long way in the last few years.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** July 19th, 2020 at 9pm.


	14. Calling In Help

“ _Hello?_ ” came a distrustful voice, gruffer than Dean’s ever could be. Sam grinned at the ornery sound, glad to hear another friendly voice after everything that happened. The voice continued on, oblivious this time to who he was talking to. “ _You should_ not--”  
  
“Bobby!” Sam called loudly, cutting off the expected growls. He could recall seeing more than one phone call like that while at Bobby’s house, watching the hunter field call after call throughout the day, and the number Sam had given Jacob was to his direct line. That number wasn’t given out to everyone, only the most trusted people that Bobby knew. “Good to hear from you!”  
  
There was a pause on the other end as Bobby parsed what he’d just learned. Sam was calling, but not from Dean’s phone, odd enough on its own. “ _Sam? That you? I thought Dean got you your own phone, why you using some random number to call me?_ ”  
  
Sam’s ears turned red. The phone Dean had brought him had completely slipped his mind. Usually it got tucked just inside the row of books in the nightstand, and so far the only time they’d used it was Dean’s prank when he’d set it on vibrate and sent Sam’s entire bed shaking like an earthquake in the middle of the night. Sam hadn’t been able to sleep for _hours_ after that. “Oh, I, uh… forgot about it?” he burst out, wishing his mind wasn’t so scattered.  
  
“ _Well, I’ll have you know I’ve been looking into Celeste for you and Dean since you left, and I found a few interesting leads…_ ”  
  
“Yeah, about that,” Sam interrupted again, the flame on his cheeks dying as the memory of Dean vanishing hit him again. “Dean’s missing.”  
  
“ _Missing?_ ” Bobby’s voice was loaded with worry. The first time Sam had contacted him like this, Dean was missing and had almost died. “ _Do you need me out there? I can be on the road in ten--_ "  
  
Sam stared at the ground. “No, that’s okay. I’ve actually got Bowman’s friend, Jacob, here with me. He’s been helping us out.”  
  
Jacob cleared his throat, just loudly enough to confirm that Sam wasn't on his own somewhere. He chimed in, missing the awkward start to the conversation in his own worry for the others. "Hi, Bobby, um, sir," he greeted. "Jacob Andris. Sam's right, we couldn't find Dean."  
  
It was jarring hearing that this other guy might know about Bowman, but if Sam and Dean trusted him, Jacob was willing to let it slide. If he was a danger to Wellwood, Jacob would have found out already. "Sprite children have been going missing in Wellwood. The sprites have no idea what's causing it, and I was just as clueless, so that's why I called Sam and Dean out here in the first place."  
  
“ _Balls!_ ” burst out of the speaker, making Sam jump at the staticky crackle. “ _What is it about you Winchesters and always losing track of each other? I don’t think I’ve ever run into_ any _hunting partners that lose each other on such a regular basis._ ”  
  
He wasn’t only referring to the times when Dean went missing, Sam knew. Dean had panicked when Sam was stolen right out of their room, nearly sold off to the witch who’d cursed him in the first place, and a year before, Dean had lost John Winchester when the older man decided to hunt on his own to find out the truth of the witch and the demon.  
  
Sam leaned over the phone, putting a small hand against the speaker grill and staring at his warped reflection in the casing. His hair was a mess and dirt smudged onto his cheeks, clear signs of how bad things were. “Whatever happened to the sprites happened to Dean. We found a symbol where each sprite vanished, including one that appeared on Jacob’s _palm_ when he was holding Bowman, and one from where Dean was standing.”  
  
“ _Send it on over,_ ” Bobby said, falling into his ‘getting down to business’ mood. “ _I can see what we’ve got on it._ ”  
  
Jacob reached towards the phone, almost hesitant when he saw how close it put his much larger hand to Sam. Hoping he wouldn't be crowding him, he poked at the buttons on the phone. Sam backed off to give him space. "Just a second," he muttered. He tried a few wrong menus before he found the function he needed to send the picture he'd taken moments ago.  
  
His cheeks warmed. It wasn't often he had a conversation like _this,_ so he chalked his fumbling up to the novelty.  
  
"Okay, I think it's sent," he announced, drawing his hand back. "The drawing Sam has in his book is about the size of the marks we could find. Even the sprites didn't notice it right away."  
  
“ _Good job,_ ” Bobby’s voice muttered at them. “ _So you scaled it up on the second drawing, Sam?_ ”  
  
Sam nodded, then remembered Bobby couldn’t see them. “Yeah,” he said. “Originally, I was gonna redraw it for Dean when we got back to the room, but then on the way back, he--”  
  
Bobby softened his voice. “ _Tell me everything you remember._ ”  
  
Sam went on and explained how they’d found the sprites in a panic, all the patrolsprites recalled and everyone peering out at Dean. How Bowman had discovered the first smudged symbol, starting a hunt for the others. Bobby complemented Sam on his idea to destroy all the symbols they could find, in case they could be used again.  
  
He went on to tell Bobby how Bowman’s younger cousin had vanished in front of the sprite’s eyes, leaving nothing behind but a symbol etched in ink. No one had suspected it could affect anyone but the children at that point, and they’d set out to return to the motel and research what they could.   
  
“--and then, I remember feeling woozy,” Sam continued. “Dean started stumbling, and I suddenly couldn’t find a good place to sit on his shoulder. Like I had something digging into my back. Then, everything went black, and I woke up in the grass, Dean gone.”  
  
"It was fast, whatever it was," Jacob agreed. "I don't know if Bowman vanished before or after I got knocked out. There was just one of those marks right on my hand, where he was lying down." Lost in his misery and worry over Rischa, Bowman might not have even noticed anything happening right away. Jacob had never seen him wrapped up in his wings so mournfully before.  
  
"Sam was awake before me," Jacob commented, the memory of tiny pushes against his cheek coming back. He decided not to mention _grabbing_ Sam-- the less that information spread, the better. "We got back to the car as soon as we realized it was another symbol and not Dean walking off somewhere."  
  
“ _The last thing that boy would ever do is walk off without his brother,_ ” Bobby agreed. “ _Dean may be a lot of things, but disloyal or forgetful he_ ain’t _. Especially when it comes to family. Now, Sam._ ”  
  
Sam glanced up at his name, a hopeful look on his face.  
  
“ _Keep in touch, and don’t get down on yourself for losing him. Dean ain’t goin’ down without a fight. He’ll have his teeth locked around the sunovabitch’s throat who_ tries _taking him out. Let me know if you need me to swing by. I’ve got the car ready and I’m sure Walt will be up for a trip out. He’s practically climbing up the walls to know what’s goin’ on with you boys._ ”  
  
A hesitant smile graced Sam’s face at that, wondering why it had taken them so long to bring Walt and the others somewhere they _knew_ was safe. “Tell him I’m fine.”  
  
“ _Will do. Now go drag your brother out of whatever trouble he found his way into._ ”  
  
The fuzz on the phone ended with a click, and Sam backed away from the phone, looking up at Jacob. Now that they’d set up their base and called Bobby, his mind was blank on what the next step was.  
  
Jacob reached out to close the phone with a _click_ of plastic against plastic. He pondered the conversation, finding even more questions in it that he could ask. _Who's Walt_ came to mind, but he knew better. Sam had hardly talked about any of the other people in his life; Jacob wasn't going to ask him about someone unless Sam started that conversation.  
  
It was weird. Sam was the same size as Bowman, but the similarities stopped there. With Bowman, it was hard to get a word in sometimes.  
  
With Sam, awkward silences could pop up out of nowhere. He was an enigmatic little guy.  
  
"Um," Jacob said, breaking that silence before it could grow. Sam looked exhausted, and it was little wonder. A lot had happened in a short time. Jacob folded his arms on the edge of the table so he could rest his chin on them. He'd never quite be able to put himself on Sam's level, but he could at least try.  
  
"Sam ... I know there's probably a lot of research stuff to do next," he said, his voice sheepish, "but I could use a few pointers on what to look for. I don't even know why I just put salt all over the place."  
  
Sam smirked tiredly, walking over to the laptop. He sat down on the surface with his legs crossed, the whirring of the fan a constant underneath his seat and the warmth of the machine running helping him to warm up.  
  
“I always forget regular people don’t know about this stuff,” Sam said, a small amount of wonder in his voice. “I think I’ve known most of my life.” He tucked his journal into his satchel and pulled out a small pouch from his jacket, holding it up so Jacob could see. “Salt represents purity. It can repel impure and unnatural things, one of the reasons you throw it over your shoulder if you spill it. The lines across the door and windows, and the vent, will keep demons and spirits out. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, so we want as many guards around us as possible, that way neither of us pull a vanishing act.”  
  
With a look of consideration, Sam tucked the salt pouch back into his jacket. It was a very small amount, but if he needed to disperse a spirit in a pinch, a pinch of salt would do. “In fact, you might want to start carrying some on you wherever you go. Just in case.”  
  
Jacob was fascinated, by Sam's words and by the fact that he was talking to someone who could use a laptop as a bench. _That_ never got old, the size disparity between him and the extra-small folk he'd met. A lot of people came up to his chest and complained about his size. They had no idea what he looked like to someone like Sam.  
  
Yet there he was, not hiding away. Jacob was grateful for trust, however tenuous.  
  
"Salt keeps out the bad guys," he mused, finally understanding why Sam had insisted he set up the salt lines quickly. Anything could happen. "Okay, I'll try to remember to bring some. Any other tools of the trade I should keep around? Stake for a vampire?" He smiled faintly.  
  
Sam faintly scoffed at the glib reply, but found himself warming to the subject. “Actually, only _some_ legends are true,” he said dryly. “If you stake a vampire in the heart, they’ll just kill you slow. Our dad said you have to chop off their heads to take them out for good. But the sun _does_ hurt them, so they’re usually nocturnal. It won’t kill them like the legends say, though.”  
  
The rest of Jacob’s question raised a good point, and Sam looked towards the door, remembering it was locked in the trunk still. They had the duffel of extra clothes, along with some spare medical supplies and Sam’s things, while the weapons remained outside. “You’ll want to get Dean’s duffel out of the trunk,” Sam said. “He’s got some spare holy water inside, and we don’t want the weapons too far off.”   
  
"Right," Jacob muttered, for once taking his gaze off Sam. He glanced at the door with a pinched brow. "I'll get those in a second."  
  
The reminder brought up something new to weigh on his mind, and Jacob’s hand fidgeted. There was a memory of pain in his chest, a fiery burn that had become a dull ache over a long time. He couldn't help but think of it now.  
  
"D'you think ... I'll probably end up needing to fire one of those guns, huh?" he asked. "Just wondering because ... I never have before."  
  
“Oh, uh…” Sam trailed off, absently threading his fingers together. “I don’t know for sure. Dean… he usually takes care of that part. We might need to kill whatever’s causing this, especially if it’s holding the sprites captive.”  
  
There were faint worry lines on Sam’s face as he looked Jacob up and down. It was one of the first times the teenager didn’t seem to want to look at him at all. Even the faint tingle from Jacob _almost_ looking at him was gone.  
  
Sam was gentle as he asked “Do you think you can? I can always see if Bobby can come if you don’t think you can kill the monster.”  
  
Jacob sat up slowly, glancing at his own hands before meeting Sam's eyes again. "No need to call him over here just yet," he conceded. "I think ... I can figure it out."  
  
The sprites were more important than his worry about guns. Whatever monster had them, he wasn't about to leave them in its clutches. Jacob and Sam, without knowledge of where Dean was, were the only ones out looking for the missing sprites. The only ones who could bring them home safely.  
  
"I'll go and get that now before I forget," he decided. He pushed back from the table, mindful of the small person standing on it, and rose to his feet.  
  
Jacob had been scolded by Bowman enough to know that he _loomed,_ so he tried to avoid it as he stepped towards the door. Soon enough, his focus was on not messing up his salt line as he opened it, creating a barrier to the outside with his own body in case anyone were to glance his way. Couldn't risk someone spotting Sam.  
  
The Impala wasn't locked this time, and thus he was much quicker in opening the car up to retrieve the duffel full of weapons (and M&Ms). He threw it over his shoulder and closed the trunk hastily, paranoid about someone else noticing the contents. They could call the cops on him and then Sam really would be on his own.  
  
He returned to the room hastily, opening the door and closing it with a brief rush of air and a heavy sigh. "Got 'em," he announced, first looking to the table to check that Sam was still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobby's starting to get used to this kind of call from his bois, while I'm betting Walt will be losing his mind with worry. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
>  **Next:** July 22nd, 2020 at 9pm.


	15. Research

While Jacob was gone, Sam busied himself loading up a search in the internet browser, briefly glancing over at the pile of books Dean had accrued back when they first met. One slim volume, titled _The Borrowers,_ was Dean’s idea of a joke, mixed in with texts on the occult and supernatural. Before, Sam found it annoying, his brother’s constant fixation on the name. That had tapered off slowly as they discovered more and more about Sam’s people, even the fact that they _didn’t_ have a name for themselves or knew where they came from.  
  
With the information divulged by Celeste, Sam now knew why that was.  
  
The door opening up again to let Jacob into the room sent a shudder up Sam’s back that had nothing to do with the human’s gaze or the breeze that slipped in around him. For a brief moment, Sam nearly gave into his instincts to hide, lessons learned over a year in the past when he was abducted right out of there room.  
  
Sam tried his best to shake that off. He'd forgotten to explain to Jacob the knock the brothers used when Sam was on his own. Wasn’t the kid’s fault.  
  
Waving at the bed, Sam indicated where Jacob could leave the duffel bag. “Just get what you need from it now, we’ll keep it with us if we leave,” he advised. “Next time you leave the room, though, me and Dean… we kind of have this knock, that way I know it’s safe to stay out in the open, or if I should go for cover. Think you could do that when you need to come in and out?” He demonstrated by banging the handle of his knife against the table, a dull thud that echoed more than any rap of his knuckles could.  
  
Jacob stood almost frozen as that quiet sound echoed away from the table. He hadn't even thought about some kind of signal to let Sam know he was coming back. With Bowman, the sprite usually came to find _him_ first.  
  
In Wellwood, Jacob was one of very few humans who even knew the village existed, let alone where to find it. Sam didn't have that kind of assurance, and he didn't have wings that conveniently hid him in his environment. Anyone could walk in, and Jacob needed to remember that.  
  
He locked the door and discarded the bag on the extra bed. Then, he put his hands in his hoodie pockets, contrite. "That's a good idea. Sorry if I startled ya."  
  
Sam waved it off. “It’s fine, I forgot to let you know. Dean has a backup plan for his backup plans usually. We’ve done it for so long that it’s just part of life now. We had trouble with humans before, a lot like Bowman did.”  
  
Glancing over his shoulder at the laptop, Sam sighed. “I’m afraid I won’t be much good on the laptop right now. I’ve gotta get washed up.” He dug out his hook. He could feel the dirt still in his hair after the earlier attack. As Dean would say, they were no good to anyone exhausted and strung out. “Did you have any other questions before I go?”  
  
 _Dude, I got a million questions._  
  
"Nah," Jacob replied, offering one more apologetic smile. "You do whatcha need." It didn't do any good wondering if the awkwardness would ever wear off. Sam was used to Dean, and Jacob simply _wasn't_ him. They'd just have to play it by ear.  
  
"I might try a few searches myself, or… brainstorm, or something," he said. They both knew he was too green to know what to search for, but he couldn't sit around not trying.  
  
Sam smiled tiredly, too exhausted for more. “Try searching for symbology or sigils,” he offered. “I'll try and explain more later, when we stop for food. I know you kinda just got thrown into all this.”  
  
That said, he wandered to the side of the table closest to the bathroom. Normally, in a new room, he might take Dean's offer of help the first time so he could figure out the lay of the land up on the bathroom counter. That way, his later trips throughout the night wouldn’t need a chaperone, and he knew where to toss his hook. Now he had to size up the counter ahead of time, before climbing down from the table to cross the expanse of carpet that separated him from the bathroom sink.  
  
It was a good thing most motels kept the sink separate from the bathroom.  
  
Once Sam had the bathroom counter memorized and he knew where he’d be tossing his hook, he slipped the three-pronged hook into a crack on the table and jumped. A controlled fall got him to the ground (without any of the regular complaints from Dean about his daredevilry), and he flicked the hook down before starting a steady run towards the back of the room.   
  
Hugging the wall the entire way, Sam reached the back of the room in under five minutes. He hated crossing the room out in the open like this, missing the comforting walls and a close ceiling overhead, but he didn’t know the motel around these parts. It would take him time to figure out the way around the new walls, if there _was_ one. He’d grown so used to having Dean around, always watching out for him, that it was now jarring to be on his own with Jacob. He’d have to adapt.  
  
Sam’s earlier planning paid off, his hook latching on during the first throw, and he scrambled up the line, using his hands and boots to cling to the fishing line and climb straight into the air. Sam made a face at the sink, knowing it wasn’t likely the maids in the motel cleaned as well as they _should,_ but he set to taking off his boots and socks and placing them carefully to the side, the socks shoved into the boots. He couldn’t afford to lose any of his clothes.  
  
Withdrawing a spare shirt and jeans from his satchel, Sam laid them out on the edge of the sink before placing a face cloth so it draped down into the sink. The rough surface of the cloth would give him reaction to climb out when he was finished.  
  
Everything set, Sam put his entire body into pushing up on the handle, pushing it from side to side until he found a level of warmth he could stand in the makeshift shower, and slid down into the sink to get started.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob left Sam to it, giving him his privacy. He had a blank Google search bar to stare at while he pondered what he would look for. Even as the water turned on somewhere behind him, Jacob was focused forward. He only derailed his thoughts to smirk about how Bowman would most likely deal with a sink. He probably would have cussed at it before figuring anything out.  
  
With his brash friend in mind, he entered a search for symbology. The first results were basic, but Jacob decided to go through them anyway. He couldn't leave a stone unturned in the name of getting through information quickly.  
  
Wherever Bowman was, he was counting on Jacob to help find him. Even if the little guy could escape, he wouldn't know where to go.  
  
The human-dominated parts of the world far outnumbered the places where Bowman could be safe. He wouldn't know what to do with himself without a trustworthy human around. Noises, smells, even the pressure and movement of the air would be different. Jacob was determined not to leave any of the sprites to that, even as he ran through sites that didn't have anything _close_ to what Sam had drawn out.  
  


* * *

  
Sam ended up spending a long time in the sink, staring into the water as it cascaded down, flowing around his feet and into the drain. His mind replayed the events of that day, over and over until he could see it every time he closed his eyes.  
  
 _Sammy…_  
  
Dean’s voice, right before losing consciousness, taunted him through the shower. It sounded desperate, like Dean was trying to _warn_ him of something…  
  
But what?  
  
Sam laced his fingers through his hair, squeezing out the liquid until it formed a bubble of condensation on his hand. He had to focus past the guilt. He’d lectured Dean about that exact thing so many times, he couldn’t fall into the same trap.  
  
Using the facecloth he’d draped over the edge of the sink, Sam dried himself off and dragged down his clothes. Whatever good the long shower had done, it gave him a spurt of energy to face the rest of the day. Dean wasn’t the only person they’d lost, and Sam needed to keep that in mind. Jacob had lost someone at the same time, and the village had lost a large chunk of their children. More might already be missing, and they wouldn’t know until they returned.   
  
The sun was just dipping below the horizon as Sam climbed down from the counter, flicking his wet hair whenever it got in his eyes. The warm red and gold hues managed to sneak in at the edges of the window, splashing some color into the somber room. His stomach growled, reminding him they’d had no time to stop for food since the day began, and Dean and Sam had burned through most of the night before in their rush to reach town.  
  
Sam took his time climbing up to the table, feeling the strain in his arms and legs. If he kept going at the same rate, he’d collapse before long. One of the main parts of his training from Walt as a child had been to know his limits and respect them. Back when he lived at the motel, if he was exhausted, it would be that much harder to raid a room for food without being noticed.  
  
When he reached the top, he found Jacob's gaze already on him, the telltale sign settling on his neck. Jacob had watched the hook intently from the moment it soared up over the edge and latched into place. He released a quiet sigh when Sam was safely on top of the table after what was a climb of several stories to him.  
  
Jacob's hands, resting idly on the laptop, had nearly twitched to life to secure the climbing string better. Only his knowledge of how self-sufficient smaller folk could be kept him from it.  
  
The internet browser was open to several tabs of references, symbols close to but not quite matching. Some were on hippie blogs, so Jacob doubted they were worth it, but he'd left them open in case. Sam would know better whether they were worth looking into.  
  
In the meantime ... "You made it back just in time," he greeted. "I was thinking I should order something in ... it's been a bit of a day. I've got some trail mix in my bag but that's really not much."  
  
Sam shrugged it off. “I’m up for whatever,” he said, a familiar phrase he used with Dean. It was less effective with his older brother these days, now that Dean had figured out what he liked and didn’t like, but Jacob was a whole other story. “I don’t think I’ve had anything since that coffee this morning.” Throwing his mind back, Sam’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember if they’d eaten since then.  
  
Jacob shook his head. None of them had had time since that morning. With Rischa and then Bowman and Dean all disappearing, the thought had left his mind. Now, the emptiness in his middle demanded attention, and he couldn't imagine Sam was any different. The little guy had to use a lot more energy just to cross the room.  
  
"I'll order something in and we can have trail mix as a side to pretend it's healthy," he quipped, grabbing his phone from the table.  
  
It didn't take long to order a small pizza (Jacob's wallet hadn't expected him to stay in town instead of out in the woods). In the time it took the delivery boy to arrive, he'd had some help ruling out a few sources on the laptop. The hippie websites were discarded and Jacob was directed to comb more closely for some kind of lead.  
  
They ate a meal of champions, pizza and trail mix, and quickly enough got back to work. Jacob didn't make a lot of conversation while he was eating, not when the only other people around were so little. The sprites didn't like to think of it, so he was well conditioned. In the end, he was back on the laptop after retrieving one of the old books for Sam. More than once, Jacob's focus drifted off the latest web page to peek at the way Sam had to go to so much effort just to turn a page.  
  
Each time, Sam would stiffen, the microscopic hairs on the back of his neck raising at the feeling. At first, he tried to hide the reaction, staying hunched over the book until he had to shuffle to the next page, sometimes turning it while remaining on the book, occasionally stepping off to push it over.  
  
This time when Jacob looked, Sam was already looking back, sensing the glance coming and sending an annoyed, bitchy glare. “Something on my face?” Sam asked grumpily, the long hours of research showing in the lines etched around his eyes.  
  
Jacob, all of six feet and five inches, flinched as that glare leveled on him. _Holy shit. He totally_ can _tell if someone's looking at him._ Jacob somehow activated some special sense just by looking Sam's way.  
  
It answered one of his many questions about the enigmatic little guy, at least. He shook his head. "N-nope, sorry," he said, looking back to his own reading.  
  
Sam nodded sharply, satisfied at the reaction, then turned back to his book, occasionally scratching out notes in his journal when he found an interesting passage.  
  


* * *

  
Though Sam’s determination was unflagging throughout the early hours of the night, his energy wasn’t. His eyes began to droop as time dragged on, his movements more sluggish as he pushed one last page over, half of it fluttering down on Sam as he leaned over, resting his cheek against the cool page.  
  
 _Five minutes… I’ll just rest my eyes for five minutes._  
  
Less than one minute later, Sam was fast asleep, his pencil lead rolling free from his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys are trying so hard, but they're such dorks about it. They're going to figure out what happened and find Dean and the sprites!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** July 26th, 2020 at 9pm.


	16. Rude Awakening

_A gaping hole tries to drag him down, the darkness itself reaching for him, coiling dark tendrils around arms as weak as a newborn calf._  
  
No!  
  
Such was not the will of my father.  
  
 _Conflicting thoughts and memories pull and twist, but through them the same silver vein of moonlight drifts through a dark sky._  
  
Sammy!  
  
 _Then Sam is in a cage and Dean is on the outside looking in, reaching for him saving him desperate--  
  
As he reaches for the door to save the trapped figure lying crumpled on the floor, his hand balloons out of proportion, only good for crushing no grabbing don’t touch can’t risk.  
  
He can never save Sam from that cage.  
  
Don’t touch can’t risk.  
  
An icy wind breaks over Dean and the nightmare shatters._  
  


* * *

  
Dean woke up with a gasp.  
  
The air was silent and still as his eyes opened, and he shoved himself up from the ground. “S-Sammy?” he croaked, his throat dry.  
  
No answer came.  
  
Dean’s hands flew to his shoulders as his memories began to return, and he frantically patted himself down. No Sam.  
  
Groping along the ground like a blind man, Dean shifted himself infinitesimally, determined to not be a hazard to Sam if he’d fallen close by. The last Dean remembered, his little brother was on his shoulder. He’d stumbled, but for some reason his hands wouldn’t rise up and cup around Sam to keep him on his perch. It was like a thick blanket had fallen over his senses and his limbs.  
  
Then there was nothing, and the nightmares came.  
  
Dean blinked fiercely, trying to clear the persistent darkness that clung to his vision. He couldn’t see _anything,_ and the ground didn’t feel _right._ The grassy forest floor was gone, replaced by cold, hard metal. From the crick in his neck, he’d been lying on that surface for a long time.  
  
“Sammy?” Dean called out again, the hush in his voice rising with panic. “C’mon kid. We both know I can’t see in the dark like you. Just give me a sign, anything… Sam?”  
  
"Whuh ... Dean?"  
  
The tired voice replying to Dean's panicked calls wasn't Sam's. It was Bowman, coming to in the sluggish manner he usually did.  
  
Blinking several times, Bowman took stock of what he could around him. His skin was cold, and his head throbbed dully. He remembered lapsing into a kind of trance, worried about Rischa right after she disappeared.  
  
His wings were sore, stuck under his weight and pressed against cold metal.  
  
Metal?  
  
Bowman sat up, still blinking. The darkness that met his gaze was almost tangible, like he could see if he just managed to swipe it out of the way. "Dean?" he said again, confused.  
  
That _had_ been Dean's voice, hadn't it? Something had drawn him out of his unexpected slumber. Bowman had thought he'd wake up still curled under his wing on Jacob's hand. He tried to stretch his wings behind himself, and they brushed against metal.  
  
"What?!" he blurted, startled by the cold touch of the unfamiliar material. He twisted around but still couldn't see.  
  
Bowman's heart pounded in his chest, blood pumping in his ears. "I can't see at all," he pointed out, wondering if it was loud enough for Dean. The human sounded ... far away. His voice didn't rumble like it was supposed to.  
  
Dean was thinking the exact opposite. He perked up at the familiar voice, a small amount of hope in him at the sound of Bowman nearby. The sprite didn’t sound far off, but Dean had already brushed his hands almost reverently over the nearby ground while looking for Sam.  
  
Sam _had_ to be close by. Dean continued feeling his way along the ground, but looked towards where he thought Bowman’s voice was coming from.  
  
“Bowman!” he called, only raising his voice a little, still worried he’d hurt Sam’s ears from close by. “Have you seen Sam? Or Jacob? I can’t find my brother over here.” He tried to disguise the rising panic in him, unable to think straight with the way his head pounded from the nightmare and the reminder of being unable to get Sam out of his cage.  
  
Bowman almost scoffed. The only thing that kept the snarky sound from emerging was the weirdness of the situation. Instead, he let words convey it for him. "I haven't seen anything yet," he groused, flicking his wings pointedly. "Like someone turned the sun off."  
  
He felt along the ground, crawling on his hands and knees. If he could bring himself closer to Dean, he could possibly help find the others.  
  
Confusion grew and grew as he inched forward. If Dean was nearby, he _should_ feel the human's movements rumbling beneath him. He wondered if he was up on a shelf somewhere, far enough away for the giant's earthquakes to taper off before they reached him.  
  
His thoughts were derailed when he found the wall of the space he was in. His hands shook as he brushed them over it, a grid of metal bars.  
  
A _cage._  
  
"D-Dean, I think I'm in a cage," he said. It planted a seed of panic in him to match Dean's. Trapped. Bowman had been in a cage before. It had never ended well for him. "There's bars. I don't know if ..." he trailed off, looking around and wishing he could just _see._ There was a chance Sam was in there with him.  
  
"Bowman?"  
  
The third voice that joined them was softer, quieter. It was raw from strain, but it sent a flood of relief to every nerve in Bowman's body even though he was trapped in a cage. "Rischa! You're here?"  
  
"I-I ... we're all in a different cage." Rischa's voice was weak. She sounded exhausted. "The other nestlings are sleeping. But they're all here."  
  
“Everyone?” Dean keyed right in on that. “Okay, just hang on. I’ll getcha all out, once I get my bearings here.”  
  
There was no _way_ he was going to leave his friends in a cage any longer than they had to be. The thought of Bowman and Rischa and Vel locked up like that hurt as much as the memory of Sam and Walt. Dean wanted nothing more than to shred the cage to pieces, the perfect opportunity to vent some of his bottled-up rage.  
  
Then, his slow and halting efforts to find some sign of Sam, or even just bump into Bowman, found something.  
  
It just wasn’t what Dean wanted.  
  
The smooth, cool metal gave way. Dean brushed his hands to the side, and ran into a bar. Then another in the other direction. He followed it up, discovering more and more bars, stretched horizontal and vertical, too close for him to slip through.  
  
Dean’s blood ran cold.

__

_[Artwork by @mogadeer](https://www.deviantart.com/mogadeer)!_  
  
His attempts to feel around his surroundings tapered off. Dean groped blindly at his jacket. A hand brushed over his knife, his handgun, passed over the empty pocket where his phone used to be, and finally fell on the cool cylinder of a small pocket flashlight he always had on him. Sam usually teased him for how blind he was when it got dark out, the little guy seeing perfectly in the dark walls of motels.  
  
Yanking the flashlight out, Dean blamed his scattered mind for not thinking of it in the first place. He flashed it over his head, turning on the beam to reveal bars that stretched far higher than he was tall, meeting in the middle in a point. Dean stumbled back a foot at the sight.  
  
“Bowman, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Bowman wake up at last, in a very different place from where they were before, but they've found Rischa and the children...
> 
> And Dean has a few unresolved issues tumbling about in that head of his right now.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** July 29th, 2020 at 9pm.


	17. Bowman and the Sprite-Sized Hunter

"I don't even know what Kansas--" Bowman began, before he registered what he could see.  
  
He had to blink more, and make sure his brain hadn't summoned up something in the absence of any light. It didn't make sense. A small pool of light had formed a few feet away, no more than a short glide for Bowman if there weren't bars in the way.  
  
He just wasn't expecting to see another set of bars across that distance, surrounding _Dean._  
  
Bowman rubbed at his eyes and leaned forward, clinging to the bars of his own cage. He frowned out, squinting. It had to be a trick of perspective. It _had_ to be. Bowman's heart did flips even as he told himself that, because what he was seeing was _wrong._  
  
The shaky pool of light emanating from the flashlight Dean held didn't lie. Bowman just couldn't understand _how_ this had happened.  
  
"Dean ... Dean, why in the Spirit's Dance does it look like you're _sprite-sized_ right now?!"  
  
Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times in disbelief as he panned the flashlight around to see what else was around, catching sight of Bowman in the distance.  
  
 _No, no no nonono…_  
  
His mind blatantly refused to believe what had happened. Dean stumbled backwards, tripping over something knee-high behind him and falling into a bowl. He scrambled out, a look of horror falling over him as he recognized bowls made to feed pets, empty but huge. He could curl up in one and take a nap if he wanted.  
  
 _No…_  
  
“It’s-- it’s an illusion, it _has_ to be,” Dean stammered, backing away from the bowls. His back hit the wall of the cage and he didn’t have the energy to keep standing. “We can’t _both_ be small, I can’t-- I can’t be cursed like Sammy!” His mind was stuck in a loop, unable to see past the cage and the rising panic that wanted to overwhelm him.  
  
In another cage, farther away than Bowman's isolated prison, Rischa winced. The rays from the flashlight didn't quite reach her, only giving her a vague silhouette of the bars of the cage that trapped her and the other young sprites. She could barely see Bowman across that distance, but her eyes were fixed on Dean.  
  
His panic was like a heavy blanket wrapped around all of the other emotions he'd been carrying with him. To Rischa, a strong empath, those emotions were brighter than the sun.  
  
She wished she could close the distance between them, go and sit silently with the distraught human much like she'd stayed by Nia's side. Someone to care, to exude calm and listen if she needed to. That was what Cerul was teaching her. She'd already been able to calm the nestlings enough to sleep once she realized where she'd vanished to.  
  
"Dean, please breathe," she advised him, unsure if it would help him at this stage. She kept her voice even. "Stay focused."  
  
Dean tried. He really did.  
  
Remembering when he’d tried to calm Sam down during his previous panic attacks, most related to _hands_ when Dean was around, and humans in general when he wasn’t, Dean let himself lean against the cage bars, slipping down and sitting on the ground-- _cage floor_ \-- with his head between his legs. He closed his eyes, the flashlight slipping out of his hand to roll a foot away.  
  
 _That’s less than an inch now._  
  
With a scowl, Dean fought the voice that tried to infringe on him and distract him. Deep breaths. Slow and even, like his life depended on them. One. Two. Three.  
  
When Dean was able to reach ten without slipping, he let himself look up. The light from the flashlight pooled around his feet, not really strong enough to light up the entire cage. But Dean could imagine it, arching over his head. Bars as thick as his wrist to keep him captive, no hope of bending them.  
  
The last cage like this Dean had seen, he’d crushed it under the heel of his boot.  
  
Deep breaths, don’t get distracted.  
  
Dean pulled himself up, using the horizontal bars over his head to keep his balance. The ground swayed with his movements, making his knees shake, and he scooped the flashlight back up, clinging to it like a life raft. Forcing himself to stay focused, he panned the light around his prison.  
  
“My--” he had to pause and clear his throat, hoarse from his panic. “My duffel’s not here, and my phone’s missing from my pocket. But I’ve got weapons. What have you got to work with?”  
  
That prompted Bowman to look around his cage, but he couldn't see much more even with the flashlight on. When the light swept across his direction, it outlined the edges of things stuck with him in the cage. Something squarish in the corner earned a critical frown from him.  
  
"I think there's just a ... a plastic box," he determined. Then, stretching his wings out tentatively, Bowman tried to feel how big the cage actually was.  
  
"This thing isn't any bigger than my room back home, but of course it's all squares," he reported. "Is it any different in yours, Rischa? Do you have anything soft to lie on at least?"  
  
Rischa sighed. The panic wasn't gone from the others. If anything, it had crescendoed to a steady beat in the air, and she was glad the other nestlings didn't feel it in their slumber. "There's some cloth," she said, but her voice conveyed that the cloth wasn't ideal. _Soft_ was a generous term for it.  
  
"There's ... we only have what we were holding. There's just a grassdoll from home."  
  
“It’s big enough,” Dean muttered to himself, then raised his voice, keeping it steady and reassuring. “Look, whatever this place is, we’ll get out of here. All of us, together. No matter what’s going on.” He stepped to the edge of his cage, doing his best to put the blackness that began where the edge ended, and flashed the light around the room, trying to search out other cages.  
  
What he didn’t say, what worried him most, was what would happen to _him_ if they did escape. They’d never found a cure for Sam… and now it sounded like the cure was directly tied to Celeste. What if it was the same for Dean?  
  
He couldn’t drive the car like this, he couldn’t even open a goddamn _door._ All of Sam’s previous weaknesses but now they’d lost their only connection to the human world. The Winchester brothers wouldn’t be able to hunt without help.  
  
Dean tried to force the insecurities that kept creeping up on him. They needed to get out first. He panned the flashlight up, searching for the door to the cage.  
  
The metal gleamed, reflecting the light back at Dean, but he found what he wanted, directly opposite the food cups. He hissed in triumph, hurrying over.  
  
The quick movement set the cage swaying, and Dean clung to the side. “How high up are these friggin’ things, anyway?” he demanded of the air.  
  
There was a metallic squeak overhead in time with the swaying of Dean's cage. Bowman gripped the bars of his own and tried to shake them experimentally. They didn't budge, but the cage around him did. His was also suspended somehow. In the dark, they might as well be floating on nothing.  
  
Rischa supplied the answer. "We never really saw your cages get set up, but ours is hanging from the ceiling," she explained. "I guess it looks like yours is, too."  
  
From her perspective, Dean's cage was all she could see. Lit from within by the subdued glow of his flashlight, she could make out the human's silhouette inside the square shape surrounded by bars. It swayed back and forth gently.  
  
"Cages hanging from the ceiling?" Bowman said skeptically. "Is that a common human thing?"  
  
“For _pets,_ ” Dean hissed, holding tight to the bars as the cage swayed itself to a stop. His heart thudded in time with each swing, somewhere down by his feet. “ _Fuck._ ”  
  
When the cage was motionless again, Dean began to inch his way to the door, feeling out each grip before he took another step. “Fucking bird cages, why’d they have to be so _high._ ” All he could imagine was how small Bowman and Rischa were, and how high up he’d be if he was in a cage suspended from the ceiling at their size. He was lucky to be able to move at _all,_ as the big urge in him was to find a corner and stay there until he was on solid ground again.  
  
Despite the growing worry in Bowman's core, he couldn't help a quiet scoff. "It's probably no higher than you normally _stand,_ " he pointed out. In the back of his mind, Bowman worried about some of the same things. Would Dean be able to get back to his giant size?  
  
"Th-the room is a bit cluttered," Rischa explained. She hadn't expected Dean to panic _more_ once she explained things. "I think ... we aren't supposed to be able to reach things."  
  
She was derailed when something brushed against one of her wings and she flinched. Twisting around, Rischa finally noticed a smaller shape than even her groping around in the dark to look for her.  
  
" 'Isha?" a tired voice mumbled. Vel. "Wha'sgoinon?"  
  
Rischa reached out to put a hand on the boy's shoulder and guide him to her side so he could cling to her. The younger nestlings, when they weren't asleep, took comfort in having someone to cling to.  
  
"It's okay, Vel," she cooed to him. "It's okay."  
  
"He coming back?"  
  
"Not right now."  
  
“ _Standing_ isn’t the same as being _dangled hundreds of feet_ in the air,” Dean replied snippily to Bowman’s comment, a white-knuckle grip showing how shaken he really was. He tried not to think about the heights, shuffling along the edge of the cage, careful to have a tight grip on a new bar before letting go of his current bar.  
  
“Vel, how you doin’ buddy?” Dean called out, distracting himself as he pulled himself up the door. If he could just reach the lock, he might be able to pick it. After that, his train of thought ended, refusing to think about the height he must be above the ground, but an open cage was better than being locked in, any day.  
  
The image of Sam and Walt trapped in their cage persisted, like an afterimage that lingered after a bright flash.  
  
Dean’s groping fingers finally brushed against the lock attached to his door, thick and bulky. He stuck the flashlight between his teeth, briefly using both hands to feel up the entire lock. Clunky, but he might be able to pick it if he had some tools to work with. Letting himself slide back down, Dean stumbled back from the edge of the cage, setting it swinging again. He collapsed in the center, seeking a distraction.  
  
“We’ve been lookin’ all over for you, kid,” Dean kept up his call to Vel, sitting down to do a proper check of all his tools he had on hand to know what he had to work with.  
  
"Dean?" Vel called back, surprised. His tired voice perked up, though he kept his arms around Rischa's waist in the dark. Out of all the victims, he'd spent the most time in that cage, often with no light to feed his young wings. They should have fluttered in excitement to hear Dean's voice, but the sound never came.  
  
"I _said_ you would come," he pointed out smugly. "I said."  
  
"That's right," Rischa told him, maintaining her calm despite the growing worry. Dean was supposed to stand tall enough to be level with the cages. Not fit in one. She opted not to point it out to Vel for now.  
  
“We’d never leave you hanging, buddy,” Dean soothed, the sound of Vel’s voice a balm to his ears after fearing the worst had happened to the small, fluttery sprite that adopted the Winchesters after meeting them. “Just had to find you, first.”  
  
Bowman's wings were agitated. He stretched them out again to feel out his own cage, ignoring the slight swaying. "Dean, d'you have an idea for unlocking these? Think I could slip out and carry everyone that needs it to ... I don't know. Somewhere _not_ in a cage. I don't have any tools of my own..."  
  
Dean arranged the findings from the inside of his jacket in front of him along the cage floor. Carefully guarding them if anything started to slide from the sway while at the same time he was resolutely staving off the panic that threatened at the back of his mind. His silver knife, the normally much larger twin to Sam’s that shone as bright as the day he’d made it. Their father’s journal, woefully small. Three hidden knives, much smaller, one from his wrist strap and two from his boots. Several salt shells, stocked and ready to go. One lockpick. The container of holy water with the rosary beads floating in it. His cobbled-together EMF meter, the red lights turned peacefully off. Wallet and car keys, fairly useless in this situation.   
  
Almost as useless as his _actual_ lockpick. Dean picked it up, scowling at the size of it as he glared at the huge lock hanging on his door. Fat chance it would reach the tumblers like this.  
  
Dean found himself longing for Sam’s satchel, primed and ready to go for any situation. Paper clips that Dean could use to pick the lock with a hook and thread to climb down from any heights. Compared to Sam, Dean was woefully underprepared for the situation he’d found himself in. None of his weapons or fancy gadgets were made for this.  
  
“I’ve got some knives we might be able to pick the locks with,” Dean said, raising his voice. “Not sure how good they’ll work, but I could try coaching you through it.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s not much good getting me out like this.” He started to replace the supplies in his jacket, unwilling to leave them where they could roll out of the cage.  
  
Bowman frowned. He lingered near the wall closest to Dean's cage, gripping the bars and squinting across the distance. He couldn't see well at all, not with eyes that were so used to the bright summer sun. A memory of a dark metallic passageway flashed across his mind, with Sam chasing behind him inside the very walls of the human dwelling itself.  
  
"Maybe when we get the doors open, we'll find another vent-thing," he suggested. His feet shifted anxiously. Bowman had trouble focusing with a _cage_ around him.  
  
He had feared this for so long, it was jarring to have it become a reality once more. For him, and for _Rischa,_ too. He never wanted to see her trapped ever again.  
  
"I should be able to at least get you down to the ground safely," Bowman pointed out. Dean was fully grown, and generally sprites didn't carry each other around without help, but Bowman's wings were strong. He could act like a parachute for the shrunken human. "Just need these blasted cages open."  
  
  
Dean selected one of his knives, replacing the others in their places. In the jacket with the silver knife, strapping two of the hidden knives onto his wrist and ankle again. What he was left with was slender and thin, not even worth sticking a pig with, but it might be able to pick a lock.  
  
It was the best they had, and Dean thought himself lucky he had _any_ of his weapons after losing the phone and duffel bag.  
  
 _Gotta make this worth it,_ he told himself as he got up, going over to the side of the cage to eye up the distance to Bowman’s cage.  
  
“I’m gonna toss you a knife,” Dean warned. “If you follow my instructions, you should be able to get out of the cage, then get everyone else out.” If they could get the children out of the cages and somewhere safer, everything, even their capture, would pay off. Dean could get to a phone and call up Bobby, small or not. The older hunter always came through in a pinch. He could even call up Sam’s number and see what happened to him and Jacob.  
  
“Don’t stand in the center,” Dean said, taking aim with the knife and the flashlight to judge the distance. “I don’t want you catching this by the blade, so I’m going to aim for it to land away from any edges.” He braced himself. “Ready?”  
  
Bowman started. Knowing where the knife was expected to land didn't erase the fact that Dean was going to _throw_ it his way. Bowman's wings folded tightly as if of their own accord. "Oh, Spirit," he muttered exasperatedly.  
  
He shuffled to the side, and then found a corner to press his back into. "Better not poke me with that knife," he warned. He couldn't just wait and say _nothing._  
  
"I'm ready."  
  
Dean, with his arms through the bars of his own cage to aim better, let the blade fly. Bowman could only watch its progress sailing across the distance between them by the flashlight glinting off the spinning blade. He remained as still as he could in his corner, as if moving would alert the knife to his presence and change its trajectory.  
  
He flinched when the loud, telling sound of metal on metal rang out around him. The knife slipped past the bars, but not without smacking into one first. Bowman had to dive forward before it could slip right back out once it hit the cage floor.  
  
His fingers almost couldn't find purchase on the handle, but Bowman dragged the weapon back into the cage. He gripped the handle, marveling for a second over the feel of it.  
  
This was a _human_ weapon, but at his scale. The handle alone felt strange in his grasp. The blade reflected the meager light.  
  
"Didja get it?" Vel called out. Bowman could swear he heard at least one more nestling stirring in the third cage, but it was set too far away to see them.  
  
"I did," he replied absently. "Dean ... what do I do?"  
  
Dean let out a breath, relieved to hear the knife was in hand. He had others, but not enough to toss frivolously around. “Good, now’s when it’s going to get complicated.”  
  
Panning the flashlight around, Dean searched for the door of Bowman’s cage. The stark bars and enclosed space made Dean shudder, resolving again that none of Sam’s people would have to face the same with him, no matter what. It was a bleak truth that it would be all-too-easy for Dean, when he was at his human height, to trap people their size.  
  
Now, when he needed that advantage most, it was gone. Bars he could bend with his bare fingers were solid steel rods to him, stronger than the body of the Impala.   
  
Dean located the lock, and kept the light steady on it. “There. At the bottom is where the key goes in. We don’t have a torque wrench-- at least, not a _useful_ one,” he amended, reminded of the one tucked away in his jacket, bare centimeters long, “and without that, this is going to be a lot more working by feel. Stick the knife in the hole, and feel around for the tumblers. They can move up and down, and you need to find the combination that opens the lock.”  
  
Bowman nodded in the dark and his wings fanned nervously. He'd never put much stock in the many things humans made. Now, he wondered if he _should_ have. Spirit knew he'd had the chance before.  
  
There was no time to dwell on it now, so he stalked over to the side of the cage with the door. He glared at the lock, daring it to make excuses for causing such trouble. It was the only obstacle between him and open air, and he had no idea how it worked on the inside.  
  
He climbed unsteadily up the side of the cage so he could reach the lock, Dean's knife clutched tightly in his hand. For a moment, Bowman struggled to balance himself up there, his wings scrabbling around him for purchase he knew he wouldn't find. Wood sprites were not climbers, by any means. He sighed in frustration and looped an arm around the bars. It would have to do.  
  
He'd barely poked the knife into the opening on the lock when light erupted in the room and he had to flinch back. The knife stayed in his hand, but Bowman hit the floor of the cage on his back with a faint _clang._  
  
A greenish spot lingered in his vision as he sat up, but more details of the room became evident. A wide, flat workbench to the side, closest to Dean's cage. Shelves, countless shelves, lining the walls. Bowman could never name all of the things cluttering them.  
  
The floor was far below, and above was a ceiling of wood and support beams.  
  
A grimy light bulb hung from the ceiling several feet away, the source of the light. Bowman shielded his eyes from it so he could look across to the other cages. The nestlings were stirring, and he could actually see Rischa and Vel clearly now. "What in the Spirit's Dance, did I do that?"  
  
Dean didn’t have time to respond to Bowman, or even the urge to. He clung to the cage bars, far too concerned about everything _else_ going on.  
  
And the heights.  
  
He couldn’t take his eyes off how steep the drop was. The cage ended, then there was only open space. Knowing it was there in the dark was one thing, _seeing_ it was something else. Dean might be this tall normally, a fact that was supported by the massive door and high windows, only darkness showing outside the cluttered room. Something about those windows stood out to Dean, but he couldn’t stop to think and figure it out.  
  
A rumbling echoed through the walls, and Dean’s heart dropped out.  
  
There was an impending sense of doom, like they’d run out of time for their escape and now the end had come. Dean wondered if Sam felt like this when he was trapped, and had to correct himself. Of _course_ Sam had. He’d seen the effects of captivity on his younger brother himself, all the way down to flinching when Dean came close.  
  
Rhythmic earthquakes, enough to rattle the cage under Dean. He clung tighter to the bars, just able to remember to shout to Bowman, “Hide the knife!” before the door started to open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for Dean and his bad language! But who can blame him in this situation?
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** August 2nd, 2020 at 9pm.


	18. Enter the Scientist

What Dean noticed first as the giant walked in wasn’t the long white coat he was wearing. It wasn’t the messy hair that looked like the man had stopped caring what he looked like, or the lines that etched his face, digging in hard years of living. It wasn’t the sound the air made as the man sighed, pausing at the threshold.  
  
It was his eyes.  
  
Cold green eyes that glanced over Dean’s cage, barely seeming to care about the hunter clinging to the bars. They locked onto Bowman’s cage, and a terrifying smile crept onto that long face, thin lips curling up.  
  
“My prime specimen, awake at last,” the man greeted, thudding past Dean’s cage to Bowman’s, but not without a casual flick of his fingers sent Dean’s way, setting the cage to shaking, and knocking Dean from his place to roll across the bottom. “I’ve been waiting to be able to _properly_ welcome you to the family.”  
  
Bowman wanted to take his eyes off the tall human to check on Dean. The other cage swayed more than it should in his peripheral vision, and he _knew_ there was no keeping balance in that. He wished he could see if his friend was okay, but those cold green eyes had him frozen.  
  
His hands were empty, but he almost wished he hadn't tossed the knife hastily into his boxy water container. It couldn't possibly keep him safe from a human, but it'd make him feel better.  
  
He'd been called a 'specimen' before, and the memories were not good.  
  
The faintest sound of whimpering came from the third cage with the nestlings in it. The human in white blocked Bowman's view of them, but it burned him up inside to think of the children, of his _Rischa,_ all cowering from this man. This man who called him a _specimen._  
  
He was a scientist. A Spirit-scorned scientist was taking sprites right out of their homes.  
  
Taking deep breaths, Bowman stood up straight. His feet planted, right in the center of his square-shaped prison. He put on a brave face like he always did, but the quiver of his wings gave away his nerves. If this was the human responsible for stealing away the nestlings, there was no telling how dangerous he was.  
  
Dangerous often got snark from Bowman. "I'm _not_ a specimen, first of all, and second of all I'd appreciate it if you'd make _him_ giant again." He waved an arm in Dean's direction.  
  
Silver eyebrows arched up at Bowman in bemusement. “You must be a well-trained pet sprite, to want your _human_ back to size,” he sneered disdainfully. He straightened, looking down at Bowman with thinly-veiled contempt, then strode over to Dean’s cage, where the swinging was beginning to die off.  
  
Dean had a few more bruises than before, but he was on his feet the second he saw the man coming. “Let them go,” he growled, advancing on the scientist. “They never hurt anyone, let them _go!_ ”  
  
The scientist rolled his eyes. “So dramatic,” he said with a sigh. “We’ll have to train that out of you, I suppose, little hunter. Tell me, do all hunters keep pet sprites? Or are you just special enough that you and that kid keep a whole village to yourselves?”  
  
Dean flipped the man off. “Screw you and whatever hole you crawled out of,” he spat.  
  
This only got a finger wagged at him, and Dean found himself unable to focus on anything but the fact that the finger was easily the length of his body, long and thick, enough to pin him down like a bug and crack ribs.  
  
He _knew_ how weak he was at this size. He’d _felt_ his younger brother’s struggles in his hand, unable to budge a single finger regardless of the panic on Sam’s face, and now it was Dean’s turn for the same.  
  
“Temper, temper,” the man tutted, like he was talking to an overexcited puppy. “Got to watch that mouth, little hunter, or you’ll have to go to time out.”  
  
The man leaned forward, and any thought Dean had that this man was just a nutjob was gone. Those eyes were dangerous, and picked Dean apart where he stood. Whatever else the man may be, he knew what he was doing and was only playing with them. “Better watch what you say, _maggot._ You’re in my home now, and we’re playing by _my_ rules.”  
  
Dean could see it coming. Almost in slow motion, the man’s hand rose up, aiming at the bottom of his cage.  
  
"What, afraid to take on someone your own size?" Dean stubbornly taunted just as the cage tilted under his feet without warning. He found himself tossed into the air, crashing against the side right next to the creep's face.  
  
Cold green eyes glittered as a huge mouth opened up, bare inches from Dean. His eyes locked onto teeth bigger than his hand. He shivered. _Is this what it's like for Sam?_ he wondered in the back of his mind. Distantly, he hoped he'd never made Sam feel this way. Small and insignificant... helpless.   
  
Dean's heart hardened, refusing to let any weakness show.  
  
"Someone like you, you mean? You shouldn't worry so much about _them._ You should worry about _you._ "  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean hissed through his teeth, wishing he could just reach through the cage and knock the man senseless.  
  
In the other cage, Bowman could barely contain the anger over what he was seeing. What he was hearing. He clung to the bars of the cage, his wings fanning ceaselessly, and he couldn't help but focus on how close the scientist human had put his face to Dean's cage. Dean was right next to the man's _mouth._  
  
He was too small. Dean wasn't supposed to be _small._  
  
It didn't matter so much that the stranger had called Bowman a pet. He'd been called worse. From men like this, it was all the same. Pet. Bug. Freak. It didn't bother him nearly as much as seeing it happen to someone else.  
  
He shook the bars of his cage in frustration. As before, it didn't have any effect but to put the slightest sway in his hanging cage. Bowman looked up and glared at the chain dangling his prison from the ceiling.  
  
"Let him be before you fill the room with all your stupid hot air," he groused. Determinedly, and despite his shaky climbing ability, Bowman grasped the bars and hoisted himself up.  
  
"Everyone like you thinks they're so tough because they're bigger, but you had to go and make Dean sprite-sized before you could deal with him, huh? I've taken down a human bigger than you, you sun-hated sneak!"  
  
The man let out a long-suffering sigh, his icy eyes switching to Bowman’s cage as he released Dean’s. Dean’s fingers twitched towards his gun with the eyes off him, one hand sealed around a cage bar to keep balance as it swung back and forth.  
  
Close to the man…  
  
Far from the man…  
  
“Keep talking like that,” the man taunted. “You’ll need your strength.” His eyes glittered. “Such a strong specimen compared to the children. I’m _so_ glad I had the foresight to translocate you when I took the hunter.” His long fingers traced an arcane figure in the air, Dean focused on every movement as his cage swung, memorizing the motions sketched into the air.  
  
Back. And forth.  
  
Now that he had the sway down, and more important things on his mind than his stupid fear of heights, he could focus on stopping this freak.  
  
“Once we get started, you’ll wish you were back at the start,” the man went on, ignoring Dean to stroll over to Bowman’s cage and caress the side with a finger. “Such… delicious plans. You sprites and your magic… so _wholesome._ It feels so pure. Refreshing. Though it is very odd to see a _hunter_ working with creatures like you.”  
  
For all his bravado, Bowman wanted nothing to do with those hands. He hastily let go of the side of the cage, only to stumble back to the center. His graceless landing toppled him to the metal floor of the cage, but he kept his glare on the human.  
  
He hated this view: a giant face, peering in at him through bars he could never escape on his own. He'd seen it before and had told himself he'd never let it happen again.  
  
_So much for that._  
  
Resisting the urge to scoot further away, Bowman sat up straight to look as unconcerned as he could. " _Obviously_ you don't know much at all about us sprites, then," he retorted. "What makes you think you'd be able to get any magic from us? You haven't exactly asked _nicely._ "  
  
The man chuckled, a dark, rasping sound like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t think I need to ask,” he chortled. “I don’t think I need to ask _at all._ ”  
  
The implications of those words hung in the air between them, a voice breaking the silence from behind.  
  
Dean.  
  
Unable to just watch Bowman face the creep on his own, Dean held fast to the bars closest to the other two. “I know your kind,” he said disdainfully. “You’re a _witch_ , ain’t you? A he-witch, taking advantage of the weak.”  
  
The scientist’s back stiffened, the only outward sign he was affected by Dean’s words. “You watch your tongue, _little_ hunter,” he said mildly, the anger in his voice betrayed by the way he stressed the words. He flicked two fingers towards Dean’s cage.  
  
An invisible force slammed into Dean’s chest, knocking him backwards from the bars. Dean hit the other side of the cage with a groan, sliding down and crumpling into a ball in one of the food dishes with a clatter. His hands stung and his back ached, a bruise already forming where the impact against his chest hit.  
  
“ _Sonovabitch,_ ” Dean slurred, weakly trying to push himself up.  
  
“It’s _warlock,_ ” the scientist corrected testily. “Witches have no subtlety.” He turned his attention back to Bowman, ignoring Dean like he meant nothing. Just a pest to be dealt with. “And with you little lovelies, I won’t need to rely on demons for my strength much longer. I’ll just _take_ what I need from you, much like I do with the demons.” He leaned in close, grinning. “What resistance do you hope for when I’m used to grappling with demons? The source of your magic seems much easier to manage than those nasties, let’s see if I can’t find it.”  
  
Bowman shrank back before he could stop himself. The man ... the _warlock,_ he'd dubbed himself, had tossed Dean backwards without even touching him. Bowman had never seen anything quite like it. Even the lich, powerful with its pack of life-sick wolves, had filled the air with its foul energies. This human's magic gave no warning at all.  
  
Unable to resist, Bowman's eyes flickered briefly to the other cage. Dean was at least stirring after the strike.  
  
Bowman looked back to the warlock then, his glare as potent as he'd ever made it. He'd had a lot of practice with it before, though he rarely needed it for _real._ He didn't want to show this man his fear. No matter how much his heart fluttered in his chest like a baby bird.  
  
He scooted himself backwards pointedly so he could push himself up to his feet. His wings twitched with a longing to dart away, find someplace high up. Somewhere he could hide from that cold, green scrutiny.  
  
Since he couldn't, he curled his hands into fists and stood his ground. He didn't want to admit to the guy that he had no idea what a demon was, or what it was like. "It's like I said, y-you don't know anything. Wasting everyone's time."   
  
  
This time, it was Bowman who got a finger wagged at him. “Just because I don’t know doesn’t mean I’m _wasting_ time. I’m going to dig around and find that magic of yours and take it for my own. You’re a good, strong specimen, Prime. I daresay stronger than my little hunter, right about now. And certainly stronger than the children I’ve caught up until now. Yes, I am _very_ glad my little hunter fetched you for me when I brought him here.”  
  
“Leave him alone,” came Dean’s voice, but much of the energy was gone. He was shakily supporting himself against the food dish, one arm wrapped around his middle where he’d been flicked.  
  
The man arched his eyebrows in bemused disbelief. “Still haven’t learned your place, pet? I’m sure I can come up with a few good lessons for you while I work with my Prime.”  
  
“You won’t get away with this,” Dean growled, a hand on the cage bar. He kicked the side viciously. “Just because you have me trapped doesn’t mean this is over!”  
  
“Those other two you were with?” the man snorted in disdain. “Please. Some local teen who knew a hunter and a mite that doesn’t show a bit of magic in him. They weren’t worth the magic it took to shrink you down and bring you here. They won’t be helping anyone.”  
  
_He doesn’t think Sam’s a threat,_ Dean realized, a glimmer of hope shining in the darkness. _He didn’t touch them because they don’t look like threats!_  
  
He kept these thoughts tightly sealed within, a poker face in place. It was almost disrupted in the next few seconds though, as the warlock in the white lab coat continued contemplatively “What sets you apart from the other hunters I’ve seen, my little pet? The number of people I’ve seen willing to work _with_ such pests was null until you came along. Is it that little morsel you travel with? Maybe once I’ve secured my magic from these lovelies I’ll go back for him. Run some tests and see what makes him tick. He’s one of a--"  
  
“You sonovabitch, stay away from my brother!” Dean shouted, yanking out his colt. His finger on the trigger, it was child’s play to sight the giant’s eyes and fire.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob didn't notice right away that Sam had nodded off, gone to chase dreams in the pages of the book. After being scolded once for glancing over too much, he made a point to leave Sam be. He only thought to look over when he found a site that might be of interest, but that required a paid subscription to access. He was ready to ask Sam's opinion on it when he stopped.  
  
For a moment, he thought Sam wasn't there. Then, tentatively, wary of more scolding, Jacob reached over to lift up the page that had fallen over a small shape.  
  
A bemused smile ghosted across his face at what he found. Curled up in the middle of a book several times his weight was Sam. His tiny face rested against the curve of the pages like it was a huge cushion. He looked exhausted, and it was no wonder why. His brother, his only family, was missing. If not for Jacob, Sam would be stranded all alone.  
  
"Alright," Jacob muttered, shifting his focus entirely to the small sleeping person. He didn't want to leave Sam lying in the book. He moved a hand tentatively towards Sam, ready to snatch it back if he startled the little guy awake.  
  
It didn't happen. Jacob had had practice picking up sleeping sprites before, and it showed. Despite his hand being so much bigger, he was able to nudge it under Sam while hardly disturbing his curled-up position. Jacob’s fingers curled protectively over the tiny weight. When he stood, his hand remained steady thanks to the multitude of times he'd carried young nestlings home at their insistence on a ride on his hand.  
  
It didn't take long to reach the nightstand. Jacob crouched and moved some books aside to reveal the tiny room behind them, lowering Sam to the bed. "Last stop," he murmured, giving his hand a gentle tilt.  
  
Unfortunately for Jacob, that was where his luck ended. Though Sam didn’t wake up as the land shifted around him, he curled into a ball, taking advantage of the divot of skin in the center of Jacob’s palm.  
  
“Five more minutes,” Sam mumbled tiredly into the skin he was using as a pillow, wrapping his arms tighter around his satchel. In his sleep-deprived and exhausted mind, the warm surface he was sleeping on belonged to Dean, and the jerk was trying to brush him off. It was _cold_ under the nightstand, didn’t Dean know?  
  
Jacob's lips twitched in a smile, but he didn't give up or answer. He had his doubts that Sam would want to wake up on his hand, no matter how sleepily-insistent he was now. No, Jacob understood exactly where Sam thought he was, who he thought he was talking to. He believed Dean had been the one to move him.  
  
He paused to let Sam drift off again. He couldn't keep up his own attempts at research if he let Sam keep his hand as a bed.  
  
"Here we go," he muttered, his voice quiet as he could make it. Once he started making some progress, Jacob pinched the small scraps of fabric that were Sam's blankets, moving them out of the way. The tiny bed awaited its owner, looking welcoming no matter that Sam tried to claim Jacob's palm instead.  
  
He set the blankets partially over Sam's small, exhausted body as soon as he'd slipped down onto the bed. He had to hope it'd stave off the chill before Sam roused again.  
  
Sam curled into the sheets as they fell over him, wrapping them around himself blindly as he settled into the comfort of his temporary home. “Jerk,” he sighed, slipping the rest of the way into sleep. His satchel sagged out of his arms, falling partially out of the bed with the leather strap still attached to Sam.  
  
Jacob's eyebrows rose, but when no more insults filtered out of Sam, he leaned away from the nightstand. The books were replaced, a safe wall to keep privacy and safety intact in that miniature room-within-a-room.  
  
That done, he stood and returned to the table. The book that had almost been Sam's bed for the night was still open to the page he was on. Jacob left it lying open, pages facing the ceiling and waiting to be read. Sam could get back to it when he woke up.  
  
With a glance at the clock on the computer screen, Jacob settled in to continue his own research.   
  
_Just one more page, and I'll call it a night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't quite the right size for this threat...
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
>  **Next:** August 5th, 2020 at 9pm.


	19. Hismael

The air was motionless after the gunshot. The man blinked, and Dean was dismayed to see his shot had missed, a bright red dot to the side of the huge eye. He might have blinded the man if it had stayed true.  
  
 _That’s impossible, I never miss--_  
  
His train of thought died off as he saw the bullet fall from the wound, the skin sealing behind it. The warlock pulled a napkin from his pocket, holding it delicately between two fingers and dabbing off the blood. “Your brother?” he asked curiously. “Well then. I’ll _definitely_ have to bring him here later. He’ll be a perfect addition to my collection.”  
  
Bowman narrowed his eyes. With the warlock spending so much time taunting Dean, it was hard to get a word in himself. He noticed the nestlings and Rischa crowding the corner of their cage as far away from the human as they could, and his heart sank. There was no telling what they'd already been subjected to.  
  
Whatever he meant about finding and _taking_ their magic, he'd already tried. On _children._  
  
Bowman might have bristled at the talk of trapping Sam too, if he wasn't already keyed up. The faint glint of Dean's gun off to the side was strangely small. The loud noise that erupted from it lingered, but not as much as Bowman knew it _would_ if Dean was normal sized. Guns were weapons of thunder and metal and destruction, inscrutable things to the simple knowledge of the sprites.  
  
Bowman paced to one side and then the other. His restless wings tensed, but he kept them folded to his back. No matter how much he wanted to flare them out, this was one time to avoid that.  
  
He'd been called a 'Prime specimen.' An old fear wormed in his gut. The helplessness he'd felt the first time he met a human that called himself a scientist came to mind. Held down against his will, his wings pried open no matter how much he resisted. Stared at with fascination and no regard for his demands otherwise. An object of amusement.  
  
Breath quickening, Bowman glanced to the lock on the door of his cage again. He wished he'd had more time to work at it. He didn't want to be in the cage when the warlock looked back.  
  
Since he _couldn't_ escape that way, Bowman shuffled back to the other side of the cage. He glanced around for some other way out. Finding none, his usual snark made a reappearance. "Looks like you don't have any room for more guests, anyway," he called. "Your head is way too big for anyone else to fit in this room."  
  
Instead of rising to Bowman’s insults, the man stepped past Dean’s cage, flicking it casually as he walked. Dean was tossed into the bars again, this time slumping down and not getting up. His sharp green eyes watched the declared warlock warily, but pain ghosted across his face.  
  
Pawing through several cluttered shelves, the man took his time sorting through the stuff there. It was like the sprites and Dean had ceased to exist, and they kept quiet in the hopes that he would leave them be.  
  
A futile hope, but hope was needed.  
  
With a cry of victory, the man straightened. Clutched in his hand was a bulky recorder, the dull plastic worn and scratched. Marks on the buttons were rubbed down so much that they shone from the use.  
  
Over by the large desk, there was a chair. This the warlock sat down in, clicking a button on the recorder to begin speaking.  
  
“Latest trial run of the magic was a resounding success; we now have a hunter downsized to a scale proportionate to the sprites. The teleport spell went through without a hitch, but future efforts may have to be suspended. Bringing two like-sized adults was enough to drain off the remaining magic borrowed from Hismael, summoning the demon a third time would be-- unfortunate.”  
  
Dean scowled. _Why’s he telling us all this?_ He pushed himself to his feet, painfully slipping the gun back into his pants. There wasn’t enough energy in him to fight back just yet, but he moved closer to the center of the cage, hanging onto every word from the scientist-declared-warlock while he recuperated.  
  
“The hunter’s companions remain at large, but are a negligible threat. One is a local teenager, most likely the one to call them in, the other is the size of the sprites, but lacks any of the magic. Once the tests pay off, we’ll be able to handle them.”  
  
It began to sink in as Dean listened to the baritone rolls of thunder echo off the walls.  
  
The man didn’t _care_ what they thought.  
  
To him, they were just a means to an end… he wanted the sprites for their magic, and Dean was merely a threat to be neutralized. What better way to do it than shrink him down, cage him with the sprites? He didn’t even have wings to help him escape, or Sam’s skills from long years of living like this.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted as the man’s attention turned from his desk to Bowman, those cold eyes fastened to the cage.  
  
“The male sprite is a full adult. Hypothesis; their magic grows in strength as they age. Further tests pending, we’ll compare his results to subjects 1 through 5. Label subject Prime.”  
  
Standing, the man clicked a button and tucked the recorder into a pocket. There was no doubting his intentions as he withdrew a small silver key from the same pocket and went straight for Bowman’s cage.  
  
Bowman tensed, like a wound up spring, and could only watch as the human closed the distance to his cage. A million questions ran through his mind, about _Hismael_ and _tests._ He wasn't ready for that glimmering key to lift closer to the cage. The light from the bulb glinted sharply off the silver.  
  
Bowman shifted his feet as one huge hand steadied the cage. He glanced at the palm pressing lightly against the bars, and then back at the hand holding the key.  
  
He didn't have a lot of time to come up with a plan.  
  
"Stay back," he warned, his wings finally flaring slightly. The lock _clinked_ as the key turned. The human barely bothered to smirk at his empty threat.  
  
They both knew it was empty. Bowman could flare his wings at a squirrel or a bird and it would have an effect. The threat display gave the wild animals an impression of size, confusing them into deciding he wasn't worth bothering with. Humans, unfortunately, never paid it any mind. Sometimes Jacob even poked his wings when he did that.  
  
That had never made Bowman feel so powerless. The hand opening the cage door and slipping in towards him wasn't safe or trustworthy. He didn't have anywhere to go to avoid it, though he shifted from side to side as it approached.  
  
"Leave me alone!" His voice was higher than he wanted it to be.  
  
The hand kept coming, ushering Bowman into a corner. Long, spindly fingers pried behind him and gathered his wings close before tightening around his body. Bowman thrashed, but couldn't stop it. Just like when Jacob had first grabbed him, or Dean, or every other human that did the exact same thing, Bowman was _helpless._  
  
He didn't even need to hesitate to go for his usual strategy. He bit down on the thumb coiled in front of his chest.  
  
In an instant, that thumb jerked upwards, forcing Bowman's head back and then settling under his chin while he was dazed from the whiplash. He let out a choked sound as the tight grip around him whisked him out of the cage.  
  
Bowman couldn't move, but not for lack of trying. His neck pained him, but he found an angle to glare at the human as he was drawn up in front of those eyes.   
  
"Aren't you a fighter," the human muttered. Bowman couldn't see the smirk below, but he knew it was there.  
  
"Little hunter, I might just have to give you a _treat_ later for this excellent find. Such a healthy specimen you've given me."  
  
Dean snarled. “Let me out, and I’ll _give_ you something else to worry about!” He aimed a vicious kick at the food dish, putting as much energy into lashing out as he had. The burning rage in him wanted an out, but there was nothing for him to focus on but the warlock that was out of reach.  
  
“Temper, temper,” the man tutted, like Dean was a pet to be scolded. “If you don’t calm down I might have to sedate you. Can’t have you injuring _yourself_ , can I?” He smiled, a twisted grin. “That privilege is mine after finding you lurking around my sprite village.”  
  
Dean stared back at the man, uncertain for a moment if that was a threat. “They’re not _your_ sprites,” he said, his voice surly.  
  
“That’s funny, because _I_ seem to be the one in charge.”  
  
Once more, Dean should have seen the flick against his cage coming as the man passed him by, but he was thrown into the side of the wall regardless of any resistance he could put up. Just like a pet that was misbehaving for an abusive owner. The pain that flared up along his ribs sent him sliding to the floor as the cage swung, his eyes closed to suppress the vertigo.  
  
Bowman's chest heaved in the tight grip around his body. He tried to turn his head to watch the swinging cage, but the thumb under his chin only needed to shift a fraction of an inch to force him to stop. It would be so easy for the human to apply just enough force to cut off his air supply, or to snap his neck entirely. His spine strained.  
  
The human took a seat at his desk once more, keeping that steady, restrictive grip around Bowman's body. A lamp much brighter than the bulb hanging from the ceiling switched on.  
  
"Let's take a look at you, shall we?" the human said. The thumb shifted again, tilting Bowman's head to one side while those unconcerned eyes looked on. He could do nothing but try to keep the human in his sights as his face was examined from all angles.  
  
"Am I pretty enough for you?" Bowman snapped, forcing the words out despite the restriction of his jaw.  
  
Pressure appeared on his throat, there for a second long enough to recognize it but not enough to choke him for real. There wasn't even a flicker in the cold eyes watching him. "Quite lovely," the human dismissed dryly. "Hush."  
  
The other hand moved in Bowman's peripheral vision, setting the recording device on the workbench. A red light blinked, and the human spoke. "Prime subject has a healthy complexion. Lean, suggesting high physical fitness, will test at a later time."  
  
"Pray to a ro-- gah!" Bowman's insult ended in another bout of pressure against his neck. Again, it didn't last, but was calculated enough to make a point. He coughed once.  
  
" _Much_ more defiant and aggressive than subjects one through five," the human went on. His eerie demeanor filled the air with a strange feeling. He had so much interest in Bowman, but not as a person. Not in what he had to say.  
  
The grip around his body finally loosened. Bowman tugged his arms free before the thumb under his chin pressed against his middle and pinned him again. He was higher in the unrelenting grip, so more of him was visible. He pushed against the thumb to no avail. Humans were too _strong._  
  
Bowman glanced past the human to the other hanging cages. He was briefly glad that, with the focus on him, the nestlings were safe. He kicked his legs as much as he could in the tight grip, wishing he could be of more help to them. The human's pulse thrummed calmly around him.  
  
Another hand appeared and Bowman tried even harder to twist out of the grip around him. Memories came back to him, a kaleidoscope of every time he'd been grabbed by a human he didn't know. Even Jacob and Dean had trapped him in their fists at first. No matter how much trust he had for them now, the helplessness bolted through him and quickened his breathing as memories stacked on top of reality.  
  
A finger and thumb pinched around his arm. "Stop it!" he cried out, trying to wrench his arm free. It was forced out to his side, locked in the human's grip.  
  
"Earlier hypotheses have been confirmed," the human noted for his recorder. "The fully developed physiology of the Prime subject suggests that these sprites forego brute strength in favor of dexterity."  
  
Bowman's arm was released, but it was no relief. The fingers immediately went to the nearest wing, still partially trapped in the fist. Bowman tried to lean away, to keep it safe, but there was no avoiding that grasp pinching harshly around the outer edge of his wing, tugging it free of the other hand only to stretch it out as far as it would go.  
  
Bowman's struggles ceased entirely. He kept his eyes on the wing, his pride and joy, held like a toy in the human's fingers. It would only take one wrong move to hurt it beyond repair. Bowman trembled.  
  
“Don’t you fucking _dare_ touch his wings,” Dean raged, punching his fist angrily against the wall of his cage. The bars stung, but nowhere near as much as the memory of how _panicked_ Bowman could get if anyone reached for his wings. The sprite had explained how important they were for his people, the way they gained energy and sustenance, not to mention got around in the giant forest.  
  
In Dean’s urgency, he’d forgotten about the children as he cussed out the so-called warlock, unable to see anything but how Bowman was frozen in place, terror in those bright green eyes. There was no guarantee that this stranger wouldn’t maim any of them because he _could,_ with his experimenting and his detached nature. Not an ounce of caring was in the man, aside from what he could learn from them.  
  
Bowman blinked quickly while his wing remained stretched out for the human to look it over. Dean's yelling was a background noise, but served to jog him out of his frightened trance. Not enough to struggle, but enough to snark. "Let _go_ of my wing!" he demanded.  
  
The human ignored the sprite as easily as he ignored Dean. Instead, he pushed the wing back towards Bowman so it was half folded. "Range of mobility of the wings appears standard to bats more than birds," he noted. "More tests will be needed later after I compare the dimensions."  
  
He forced Bowman's wing through more motions, even shifting his pinch grip to the wristbone at the top. Bowman winced when the pressure built on it. "Blast it, you're gonna break something!" he groused. He remembered saying the same thing when he first met Jacob.  
  
"Not by accident," the human snipped back, quick as a whip. Before Bowman could be properly chilled by the statement, his wing was released. His stomach did flips as the human lowered him to the metal surface of the work bench, opening his hand only to flatten it over Bowman, pinning him down.  
  
While he struggled under the weight of a hand, Bowman watched the other one warily as it reached for the clutter at the back of the desk. As usual, the human talked to himself while he rummaged. "The magnetic clamps worked well on subjects one through five. Subject Prime looks to be stronger than they, but not enough to pull loose."  
  
Bowman frowned. He could swear that Jacob had explained what _magnetic_ meant at some point. The word was foreign, but familiar. Soon enough, whatever it was approached in the human's grasp.  
  
The hand on top of him shifted so the fingertips were pressed down on him instead of the whole hand. His legs were held down with a thumb, and something looped around his ankles. His wrists were next, try though he might to squirm out of the way. The human had too much _practice_ with tiny limbs like his. Bowman would bruise, but nothing broke as his hands and feet remained secure in some kind of plastic bands.  
  
When he tried to lift off the surface of the table, he couldn't. Bowman strained and writhed against them, his wings curling and twitching underneath him, but it was as if the human had placed the weight of the world on those bands. Above, the human merely _watched_ as he fought and struggled with all he had.  
  
"What _is_ this?!" Bowman demanded with a glare. "More magic?"  
  
"Use all the strength you have," the warlock said, and Bowman couldn't tell if it was a taunt or a real suggestion. Then, he went right back to talking for his recorder instead. "Subject appears unable to separate the magnets from the table, but I won't leave him unattended with them just in case."  
  
Huge, all-eclipsing hands returned. Bowman tried again to squirm away from them, but with the 'magnets' pinning him down, he couldn't escape. One wing was tugged open, forced flat against the table. He almost expected another plastic loop around part of his wing.  
  
Then, he _wished_ that was what happened, instead of what he got. A clamp, absolutely tiny in the human's fingertips, was secured around the wrist of his wing and tightened. Bowman yelped in pain as the vice secured his sensitive wing. It was attached to another magnet, stuck fast to the table.  
  
The outermost tip of his wing received another clamp, and Bowman bit back a grunt of pain. "Get these stupid things _off_ of me!"  
  
His other wing got the same treatment, and Bowman couldn't move his wings without straining them or risking _tearing_ them. His chest heaved with exertion and his hands curled into fists.  
  
Remembering why the scientist had taken sprites in the first place, Bowman was glad it was him stuck there, staring up, and not one of the nestlings. If the man knew that _Rischa_ had the strongest spiritual connection out of any of them, Bowman wasn't sure if he could protect her. He could at least try to keep the attention on himself.   
  
"Feel tough, freak?!" Bowman spat.  
  
“Mixin’ magic and science, never a good plan.”  
  
Dean’s method this time wasn’t to yell at the giant. His voice was taunting and knowing, long years of experience with magic behind it. He’d seen a lot of magic in his time, even participated in certain rituals and spells.  
  
“Anything that affects the natural world can be identified and quantified,” the warlock muttered, his focus remaining on Bowman, but he almost sounded like he was arguing with himself instead of Dean.  
  
Dean shook his head ruefully. “So says the man who thinks he can control everything that happens with a few _little_ spells. It’s like building a home made of wishes and sticks. One good blow comes, it’ll all fall down.”  
  
“So says the hunter who can’t even escape one little cage.” The man turned in his seat, briefly distracted from the sprite, for which Dean was grateful. “What could _you_ know about magic? You kill whatever you find that’s _interesting._ ”  
  
“Oh, I know a thing or two,” Dean said smugly. “Enough to make me dangerous.”  
  
"I'm shaking," the warlock replied. He waved a dismissive hand towards Dean's cage before turning away. The cage swayed like before, though it was more of a warning than yet another blow. The strikes could lose their meaning if used too much.  
  
Besides. Anyone who looked could see that the tiny hunter had distinct issues with _heights._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting rougher here, so CW for language and torture themes!
> 
> Hismael, the demon of acquisition. Very useful for a warlock looking to acquire some tiny sprites. 
> 
> This is the symbol that appears each time the spell is used:
> 
> https://sta.sh/01rb6w7czdqn
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** August 9th, 2020 at 9pm.


	20. Rischa's Gift

"Shall we continue, Prime specimen? How fortunate for me that this hunter didn't destroy you as soon as he found you, like most of his ilk would have done."  
  
Bowman cocked his head and scowled. He didn't want to think of other humans in the same line of work as Sam and Dean. "I'm just special, you know." His wings strained cautiously against his bonds, to no avail. Even when the man turned away, he'd been unable to budge from the table where he was pinned. On display for any human that might wander into the room.  
  
"We'll see. Resuming data collection," the warlock said. Back to business. "I will begin by measuring the sprite's dimensions."  
  
And he did just that, with a tool Bowman could hardly fathom. It looked like a vice, but the human merely adjusted it so the jaws matched whatever he was measuring. Bowman's arms and legs were measured, as well as his waist and each part of his wing. His twisting and writhing to escape didn't faze the human.  
  
"Only four inches tall," the warlock noted, with the instrument measuring from the top of Bowman's head to the bottom of his boots. "Much taller than tiny little subject one, and yet still so _miniscule._ "  
  
"Careful, you might hurt my feelings," Bowman growled, trying to angle away from the measuring tool.  
  
A sharp pain struck one of his wings. A harsh tap against a knuckle in one of the long, thin finger bones prompted the whole limb to twitch, curling at the bottom edges. Bowman grunted with the pain.  
  
"Reflex responses are much more focused," the scientist noted, almost bored. "The wings are sensitive. Younger subjects may not have acclimated to the nerves in the wings yet, based on the involuntary spasms. Prior hypothesis of nerve damage in subject one will need to be re-explored."  
  
Up in the cage crowded with young sprites, 'subject one' flinched, tears coming to his eyes. Vel clung tighter to Rischa and bit his bottom lip. He had been on that table more than any of the others, as the first victim. His wings didn't flutter as much as they should for his age, and they were a concerning dark green.  
  
Rischa patted the young boy's head and tried to avoid looking at the workbench as the human pointedly tested more of Bowman's reflexes. He claimed it was in the name of his 'science,' but Rischa knew better.  
  
The man was punishing Bowman. Trying to train him. Rischa could feel that sickly determination in waves all around her, mingling with the others' fears like blood in the water.  
  
The torment continued for Bowman, who bit back as many noises of pain as he could. When it came time for the scientist to undo his magnet trap so he could test the limits of Bowman's wings, more yelps of pain escaped.  
  
The scientist was right about one thing. A wood sprite's wings were some of the most sensitive limbs on the body. When he pinched every section of membrane and flicked every bone, Bowman squirmed in his grip and prayed for an opportunity to escape that never came.  
  
The scientist only deemed the day over when he pushed Bowman's wings backwards, straining them to a terrible, unnatural angle, causing the sprite to scream in pain.  
  
"In an effort to preserve the subject's health for later experiments, I'm considering this session over," he announced, smug. Bowman lay on his hand, wings splayed out and temporarily numb. The man didn't even have to close him in a fist when he carried him back to his cage and dumped him in.  
  
No one said a word as the scientist locked up Bowman’s cage with a resounding _click!_ and twisted his fingers near Dean’s cage to renew the shaking from side to side. The turbulent movement had not ceased the entire time he was examining Bowman, leaving Dean queasy and shaking in the center of the metal floor.  
  
Once the thunderous footsteps died off in the distance, Dean’s cage at last began to slow down in its movements, slowly coming to a stop. Only then was he able to pull himself to the edge of the cage, blinking harshly as he tried to banish the airsickness.  
  
“Bowman!” he called out, his friend at the front of his mind even through the motion sickness and burning pain from his ribs. “Bowman, are you alright?” Dean grimaced, remembering that last scream. No, none of them were alright now. Not at all. “Or at least in one piece?”  
  
Bowman panted and lay there for a second more before he finally pushed himself up. His wings dragged with him as he scooted to the wall of the cage to lean on it. The sharp pain in the middle of his back, right where his wings connected to it, had died down into a dull ache.  
  
"I've had worse," he commented. There was a glimmer of his usual defiance in the words, but relief nearly eclipsed it. If his wings had been held that way for too long or tugged at the wrong angle ... it didn't bear thinking about it.  
  
The nestlings all crowded near the closest wall of their own cage. They watched him with fear, some of them brushing tears away. Most of them had probably had their wings messed with the same way, except perhaps the shy little wraith sprite hiding behind the others. Bowman put on a grim smile for them all.  
  
"The feeling's already coming back, see?" He shifted his wings, curling the fingers slowly before letting them fall slack again. He moved one onto his lap to massage the joints.  
  
Dean sighed. “At least there’s that,” he muttered. It could be worse. From the screams he’d heard, if anything permanent happened to Bowman’s wings, they’d hear it and _keep_ hearing it. The large limbs-- larger than Dean had ever thought possible while he was standing at his full size-- were covered in nerves, one of the most sensitive parts of his body.  
  
The room was almost mocking in its stillness as Dean glanced around. The window remained dark, pointing to it most likely being blocked off somehow. He doubted the man had left them to sleep for longer than a few hours.  
  
A few thoughts occurred to Dean, and he glanced over at his empty food dishes. “Nothing to eat over here,” he called out. “And any food I had is in my duffel… and probably just as huge, right about now.”  
  
For that, Vel had an answer. "He only feeds us in the mornin's," he explained. One little arm let go of his hug around the nestling nearest him to gesture to the dish in their own cage, just as empty save for a few crumbs. "It's different every day ... most of the time it's okay, except..."  
  
"Sometimes he only puts meat in there," another kid explained, wrinkling his nose. "We never eat that."  
  
Bowman frowned critically, but remembered the boxy dishes in his own prison. He crawled over to the water dish, reaching in to pull out the knife Dean had thrown to him. He'd need to make sure he kept it hidden until he had better chances to use it.  
  
"Bowman, Dean," Rischa called, her voice steady but weary. "You need healing. It's gonna be a little hard since I can't actually _touch_ you, but--"  
  
"Don't use too much energy," Bowman cautioned her. He knew better than to insist against the healing entirely; she'd just do it anyway. "Dean got batted around more," he added, looking across to the human in question. "Anything broken?"  
  
Dean hesitantly pushed down on his chest, testing out the pain in his ribs. It instantly flared up, sending a hot wave through his body, but it wasn’t a sharp pain. Subdued, the way bruises felt. He shook his head. “Just bruises here, don’t worry about me.” He winced and leaned heavily against the bars to rest. “Hurts like a sonofa _bitch,_ but it had its uses.”  
  
There was a little more pep in him at his next words. “That man, scientist or warlock or he-witch, _whatever_ he is, gave away more than I think he meant to. Now we know Jacob and Sam are out there, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about my baby brother is you can’t underestimate him. He’ll find a way to get to us.”  
  
Bowman moved over to the side of the cage closer and gripped the bars. He wanted so badly to get himself free, but at least knowing someone was out there looking for him helped. Jacob would never leave Bowman to rot in a cage.  
  
While Rischa began her quiet Prayer and the first shy touch of healing magic found his wings, Bowman let himself grin. "He didn't think they're worth worrying about," he recalled.  
  
A mistake on both counts. Bowman had seen the levels of determination that both Sam and Jacob were capable of. They were calm on the outside, but unflinchingly brave in the face of a threat. "Sam knows all your hunter stuff and Jacob'll follow his lead and help find us."  
  
“I can always count on Sammy.” Dean groaned slightly as he shifted to a more comfortable position, wishing he had either a pillow to rest his head on or the room wasn’t so damn _cold_ so he could take his jacket off and bunch it up under his head. “That kid’s pulled me out of more holes than I can count since finding him.”  
  
Jacob was a harder subject for Dean to consider. The last time he’d seen the kid, he wasn’t too happy with Jacob. With everything adding up, their dad’s funeral, Jacob’s annoyingly tall stature, startling Sam into hiding… Dean hadn’t been the most understanding. And now, if the scientist hadn’t touched Jacob’s size, he was a fucking _giant._  
  
There was a reason Sam had ducked into Dean’s pocket when they first met the kid, and it was hard to imagine what Jacob would look like _now_.  
  
“Shit.” Dean let his head drop into his hands.  
  
Bowman, lacking Rischa's gift for keen empathy, couldn't read why Dean had slumped in the other cage. He frowned, but couldn't blame the guy. He wanted to curl up in a ball again and hide from the world. Now, he knew where Rischa was, at least, but the answer wasn't a comfort. He had never wanted to see other sprites trapped in cages, not after the first time. He hated it.  
  
To avoid despair, he tried to focus on something optimistic instead. "That blasted human has surprised me a couple times," he mused, pulling himself to his feet so he could prowl around the edge of his prison.  
  
"He fought his own friend. I might have lost my flight two years ago if he didn't. Then you and Sam wouldn't have gotten the good luck of finding me last year."  
  
Dean managed a slight shrug without exacerbating his pain. “Sounds like a good kid,” he forced out. “Even if this new guy looks like he wants to undo all that for us.”  
  
Guilt crept in on Dean. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d treated Jacob. Nothing was going _right_ this week, and now he’d lashed out at someone who currently could pinch him between two fingers, just like the warlock-wannabe had done to Bowman. Helpless. _Small_.  
  
With a shudder, Dean leaned his head against the bars and stared at the top of the cage over his head. “How do you guys do it?” he asked Bowman. “Deal with us. We’re too _big._ ”  
  
Bowman paused his restless investigation of his cage to look over at Dean again. He had never expected a question like that, especially not from _Dean._ For a moment, the only sound in the room was Rischa's quiet, earnest chanting and the metallic squeak of the chains holding all the cages up.  
  
"I don't speak for everyone sprite-sized, but I guess it depends on the human," he finally answered. After all, despite having trust for Jacob and Dean, he wasn't about to flutter up to just _any_ giant. "I bop you if I need to. Usually makes enough of a point."  
  
He resumed his pacing, if only to take his mind off the fear that lingered under his skin like it was ready to ambush him. "It isn't being blasted _giant_ that makes someone bad."  
  
Dean let his eyes close, unable to let himself believe what Bowman was saying. All he could see was himself, standing eye level with the cages. He’d looked into the mirror enough to be able to imagine that; green eyes staring in, just like the scientist had done. A huge hand raising up, and no way to know if it would free him or turn him into a pet, a toy, or kill him off.  
  
The last thing he ever wanted to do was make people nervous about his size, but he was beginning to see how impossible that would be in a world where humans were the giants.  
  
 _I’ll do better,_ he swore to himself. _Once I get out of the damn cage and get back to Sam. The kid deserves a brother who understands, not one who’s just gonna grab him_ whenever.  
  
Dean sighed. “Maybe you have more faith in people than me after all,” he said to Bowman.  
  
Bowman tilted his head, but didn't deny it. Instead, he shrugged. "That doesn't mean I won't fly away from _most_ giants I see," he quipped. He tried for a joking tone, but it just wouldn't come. Not while they were both trapped with no idea if Sam and Jacob knew where to look for them.  
  
They didn't even know how far they'd gone.  
  
"And I dunno if I'd call it faith in people or something else," he mused. Bowman couldn't help but dwell on the first human threat to Wellwood. "I guess I've just known good and bad at _both_ sizes so I can't really say one's better or not. I ... a lot of people got hurt because a _sprite_ betrayed some of us to a human while trying to save the rest of the village."  
  
Rischa interrupted to keep Bowman from getting riled up too much about the terrible subject. "The humans we _do_ trust near the village have proven that they earned it," she pointed out meekly. Then, changing the subject for Dean's benefit, too, she continued. "Dean ... are you feeling any better? I tried to soothe the bruises."  
  
Dean blinked his eyes open in surprise, his arm half raising up into the air before he caught himself. While he was buried in guilt, the pain had leached out of his chest, leaving a slight ache. Lifting his shirt, he saw that there was barely any bruising, when a few minutes ago he was convinced he would spend a week black-and-blue.  
  
Taking a moment to pat himself down, Dean found most, if not all, the pain gone. He took in a deep breath, relieved to feel no pain.  
  
For now.  
  
Pushing away those dark thoughts, Dean smiled at Rischa, doing his best to give her his full attention. “Thanks, kid. You keep coming through for me whenever I see you.”  
  
She smiled back, a tired expression far more world-weary than a ten-year-old ought to wear. She absently brushed a hand over the head of the nearest nestling in the cage with her. "I do my best," she replied. "You shouldn't have to keep hurting."  
  
The statement ran deeper than a few bruises. Rischa still didn't know what had caused the pain wrapping itself like a noose around Dean's heart, but he didn't deserve that, either. No one deserved pain like that.  
  
Bowman smiled too, but it was grim. Rischa was so calm, while the nestlings, all tired and scared, clung to her. It was easy to forget that she was a child, just like the rest of them.  
  
She was forced by her gift to be older than she was. Sometimes, in the quiet, dark corners of his mind, Bowman resented that.  
  
"Thank you, Birdie," he said. "You're doing good."  
  
"How're we gonna get out?" the sprite boy next to Vel suddenly blurted. He was the second to be taken, and his wings did not fare much better than Vel's.  
  
"Sam's gonna come," Vel answered matter-of-factly. " 'Member Sam? Sam an' Jacob, too."  
  
"As soon as they can," Bowman affirmed with a nod. "For now, maybe Rischa and the rest of you should settle down and sleep, save your strength."  
  
“Same goes for you, Bowman,” Dean said sternly. “You need to keep your strength up, and you’ve had a hard night.”  
  
Dean knew that it wasn’t likely that the man would give up on his so-called “Prime" specimen so easily. Bowman would likely have to face the same situation all over again once he’d recuperated, and there wasn’t much Dean could do to stop it.   
  
Not much he could do from this cage, but that didn’t mean he’d stop running his mouth.  
  
“Once you’ve rested, we’ll try getting out again, okay?” Dean offered, suspecting Bowman’s wings would need to recover after what they’d gone through.  
  
Bowman huffed quietly, but Dean was right. The light from the hanging lightbulb could warm the sprite wings, but it was nothing compared to what the sun did for them. It wouldn't help them much, and Vel's wings were proof. Bowman didn't want to see his wings in the same state, but they would reach that point if they were trapped long enough.  
  
He had to take care of himself, as much as he wanted to focus on the nestlings. The scientist thought he was the most adept at borrowing the Spirit's magic, and Bowman wanted to keep that impression. Better him than the others.  
  
"Guess you're right," he admitted. The others were coming. He could do this. "I'm no good for carrying anyone like this."  
  
Even so, Bowman stayed standing to watch the nestlings shuffle back to their scrap of cloth. Even the wraith sprite, standing out so starkly with his dull red-orange quills, was welcomed into the tight group of children snuggling close together for support and warmth. Rischa remained sitting up, another sprite's head resting on her lap.  
  
Knowing Bowman would have something to say, she smiled softly and didn't even look up at the others. "I'll sing for a little while. It seems to help."  
  
Dean tucked his arms tight around his chest. “So long as you sleep too,” he informed her. “I’ll keep watch for the wannabe he-witch.”   
  
Despite the exhaustion in his bones, Dean had no intention of dropping his guard with a giant possibly around, fully hostile to all of them and more than capable of harming any of the children. His gun might not have injured the guy now, but Dean planned on his next shot hitting him right in the eye.  
  
See him recover from _that._  
  
Determined or not, when Rischa sang for the children, Dean felt himself as affected as the others, his eyelids growing heavy. Curled into a small ball against the sturdy bars and with one of the food cups alongside, he drifted into an uneasy slumber, plagued by familiar nightmares.  
  
Bowman settled himself in the corner of the cage closest to the cage full of nestlings. He wished he could offer Rischa some comfort in return for what she did for the others, but he was too far away. Her gentle singing voice, a legacy of her Songbird lineage, lulled the other nestlings off quickly, and sleepiness tugged at Bowman, too.  
  
He lay down with one wing covering himself like a blanket. His body was sore from the experimentation earlier, and he knew more was to come. Despite the exhaustion, he tried to stay awake as long as he could, waiting for Rischa's voice to die out and tell him she'd gone to sleep, too.  
  
When he finally closed his eyes, the gridded image of the cage bars burned into his mind. Bowman dropped off into memories of cages, of feeling trapped.  
  
The prisoners in the room fell quiet in uneasy sleep.

Chapter artwork by @[laescritora](https://www.deviantart.com/laescritora)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An uneasy night....
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** August 12th, 2020 at 9pm.


	21. Morning of the Second Day

Even with a slow waking, Bowman knew something was wrong before he noticed anything else. His back hurt from lying on something hard, and his limbs were sore, cramped. Bruises and aches laced his body, but not as many as he remembered starting with.  
  
Small snippets of memory came back to him. Finding himself in a cage again, after years of avoiding them. Finding the nestlings in another cage, alive but in varying stages of malnutrition. His heart fluttered as he remembered the state of little Vel's wings. Darker than they should be, and weak.  
  
Rischa, surrounded by the fear and despair of the others. Forced to stay calm and hide whatever fear she felt. Bowman could swear just a day trapped like that had aged her.  
  
The real jolt that prompted him to roll over sluggishly was the third cage and its occupant.  
  
Dean, a human who was _supposed_ to stand much taller than any sprite, had been in a cage just like Bowman. Reduced to sprite-size by the same man that had been taking Wellwood's children.  
  
Bowman groaned and his hands lifted to his face of their own accord. They dragged over his eyes and then back through his hair, clutching it in bunches. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and then opened them.  
  
The top bars of the cage and the hook connecting him to the ceiling greeted his tired vision. The dingy light from the bulb still filled the room, neglected by the man holding them captive. No wonder the nestlings' wings were in such poor shape. Even when they had light, it was no good.  
  
Bowman's own wings twitched in begrudging agreement.  
  
He sat up laboriously, wincing as his back twinged. When he stretched his wings behind him, they bumped the cold metal bars of his prison, and he glared over his shoulder. "Blasted _cages,_ " he mumbled, "worst thing humans could make."  
  
He rolled over so he could face the other cages. His hands clutched the bars as he ignored the room, only checking on the others.  
  
Dean looked to still be asleep. Most of the nestlings were still lying down, with only Vel and the little wraith sprite sitting up. They huddled close together, saying nothing.  
  
Bowman's heart fell at the sight of how forlorn they were.  
  
Vel noticed him watching before Bowman could think of anything to say. The young boy grinned, a tired little smile, and waved. "Hi, Bowman," he greeted. "The human's prolly gonna bring food soon."  
  


* * *

  
Sam slept deeply, his dreams troubled but unfocused, shifting around in his small bed throughout the night.  
  
When he woke up, the satchel had slipped to the ground and the strap fallen from his arm. One hand was draped down, his fingers just touching the top of it. The blanket hung askew, no longer covering his upper body or legs. Most of it lay in a pile against the bottom of the nightstand.  
  
With a groan, Sam blinked his eyes fiercely to clear the sand from them. He dragged his hand up from where it was draped, the other tangled up by his side in the blanket, and rubbed at his face to try and clear it. He needed water. Even just to dunk his head.  
  
Trying to untangle from the sheet, Sam ended up rolling off and landed in a pile next to the small bed. It was a fall of just over an inch, so he wouldn’t bruise, and he kicked his legs free of the sheet. Then, when he looked around the small room, the realization fell over him again.  
  
Dean was gone.  
  
None of Sam’s belongings were in their regular spots. The tiny desk was crooked, and there was no cup of water. Jacob had done his best, but he couldn’t know how the brothers normally set up their rooms. Sam appreciated all his help, but at times like this, it all came crashing back down on him.  
  
He needed his older brother back, and that was that.  
  


* * *

  
Dean twitched at the voice in the room, but he didn’t wake.  
  
He was curled into a corner of his cage, using the food bowl to lean against with his arms tucked tightly (almost protectively) against his chest. Even in sleep his body remembered the damage to them, though Rischa had repaired the outward injuries.  
  
Inside was another matter, and would never be an easy fix.  
  
His eyes flicked from side to side under the lids, reliving the same nightmare again, one he couldn’t escape no matter how hard he tried.  
  


* * *

  
_This time when the nightmare comes, he is not the giant.  
  
Dean cowers in the corner of the room, watching the other person blow up in proportion as the witch cackles. Her laugh has haunted his dreams for a lifetime, and continues to haunt him even now.  
  
Sam remains in his cage, beating the bars with his fists. Dean reaches for him, but the cage is too far away. Every time he tries to lunge to free his little brother, it is gone.  
  
Always gone.  
  
Farther and farther off...  
  
Receding away...  
  
Then Dean recognizes the person the witch is transforming, and his eyes widen in recognition.  
  
_Jacob! _  
  
The kid is over two dozen feet tall, bent over and barely fitting into the house. His hand reaches for Sam's cage, much like Dean's had in reality when trying to free his baby brother.  
  
Then, it reaches past.  
  
Dean feels curious fingers brush over his neck, and curls himself protectively into a ball. All he can see now is the hurt look on Jacob's face when they first met, that morning so long ago.  
  
Another lifetime. One where Sam's at his side.  
  
Now Jacob has all of the power, and Dean has none as those fingers curl unrelentingly around his body._  
  


* * *

  
Full of renewed determination, Sam tossed a clean shirt and pants on, swapping out some of the stuff in his satchel in preparation for the day. They were going to find Dean and the sprites.  
  
A few times, he wondered how he’d gotten all the way to the nightstand. The last thing he remembered was working on research. No clues had turned up yet, but they’d only just begun. There were times he and Dean spent weeks checking things out before finding the monster. This time, it felt like they were on a ticking clock, so Sam had tried his best to keep going through the night.  
  
Figuring he could just wash up at the bathroom again and see if Jacob could get him a cup of water later on, Sam meandered his way past the wall of books and hopped down from the shelf, glancing around at his surroundings before starting an easy jog.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob didn't pull late nights like that very often. After moving Sam to his bed under the nightstand, he had gotten back to the books. Since he didn't know what to look for, a lot of his notes were peppered with question marks and page numbers, references in case he wanted to ponder them later.  
  
Hunting monsters was a lot more tedious than he'd envisioned. At least this part was.  
  
He'd gotten a few hours of sleep, claiming one of the beds in the room without even moving the covers. As tired as he was, from the long hours slouched over the table and the stress of not knowing what was happening, he had drifted right off.  
  
He woke with several sluggish blinks. His mind didn't catch up to where he was right away. The decor in the motel room, shabby and worn by time, held his focus for a long, drawn out minute while he sorted out the memories of the day before.  
  
Bowman was gone, vanished from his own hand. Jacob glanced at the palm that had sported that mystery symbol. He hadn't found a single lead on that stupid mark.  
  
Every second he didn't spend trying to _help_ somehow felt wasted. With a groan, Jacob pushed himself upright. He sat on the edge of the bed facing the window, and the table loaded with notes and books and an idle laptop. He could splash some water on his face and then get back to it. There wasn't anything else he could do.  
  
He stood, stretching his arms overhead until his back popped quietly, and then sidled around the bed. The bathroom alcove was his next goal, and he trudged toward it.  
  


* * *

  
Sam didn’t get much of a warning, but it was enough.  
  
For so long, he’d grown used to having Dean around. The hunter didn’t look like much to people on the outside; loud, brash and often abrasive, Dean was the last person anyone expected to gain the trust of people that fit in the palm of his hand.   
  
Even Sam had a hard time at first believing how far Dean had come, in such a short amount of time. During the first few weeks together, he’d avoided the floor or spent his time hugging the walls, doing anything to avoid a place he might be underfoot. It had taken months to realize how naturally careful Dean was, no matter how boisterous he seemed. He scrutinized each step he took with that unique focus he was known for on hunts.  
  
The realization that Jacob was walking around hit Sam when he was a few inches beyond the edge of the bed in his light jog. He threw himself backwards with a startled cry, lunging for the safety of the dark area underneath the bed.   
  
As the instincts from living over half his life at this size hit him full-force, sending him scrambling around the bedpost into hiding, Sam could remember a time when this was a very similar situation with Dean, right around when the elder brother had learned to watch every step…  
  


* * *

  
_There is a flash of boots coming straight at him, and Sam dives out of the way.  
  
It is an instinctive, unthinking reaction to the sight of those massive leather structures that move under the control of the humans that share the world with people his size. "Borrowers," Dean calls them, no matter how many times Sam argues against it.  
  
He has only been traveling with his brother for two days and so is not adjusted to having a person so large around.  
  
Sam hits the ground and rolls under the bed. It is a space that gives him more safety than the wide open area of the rest of the motel room. Dean doesn't understand this yet, because he can't see things the way Sam does.  
  
He can't see the way he towers over the entire room. He doesn't understand the fear lurking in Sam that one of those massive hands will shoot towards the smaller hunter-in-training and trap him against his will.  
  
It is these thoughts that Sam always has in mind. They plague him every day. After all, within the week Dean has grabbed him against his will not once, but _twice. _  
  
The first time was no one's fault. Dean hadn't known it was Sam he was stalking in his motel room any more than Sam had known Dean was the human stalking him.  
  
The second time was on purpose for Dean, but unexpected once more for Sam. It was a demonstration of why Sam couldn't let his guard down, even with Dean.  
  
It saddens him to think how dangerous his own older brother could be, just because of a curse that befell him when they were children. They were so close back then.  
  
Sometimes Sam wonders what would have happened to them if Dean had been struck by the curse as well. Or if the witch had chosen to strike at the older Winchester in the moment before their dad busted down the door.  
  
The boots hesitate where they'd stopped. The weight on them shifts, and Sam sees a huge knee drop down from above to press into the ground.  
  
Dean is kneeling.  
  
It awes Sam to consider just how much power his older brother has grown into as an adult. And not just in comparison to Sam. The older Winchester goes head to head with monsters on a regular basis and always comes out on top. There are scars from these fights, scars that Sam can see better than anyone else, but still Dean lives to fight on.  
  
Sam scrambles to his feet as kind green eyes dip down into view and Dean peers under the bed to look for him. Guilt covers the hunter's face over the way his little brother has run from him.  
  
Sam's chest heaves from the brief scare when the green eyes land on him at last, and this makes Dean's face soften even more. There aren't many things that can break the stern facade that Dean Winchester keeps around him, but his little brother looking so afraid is one of them.  
  
"Sammy," he says, his voice a soft thunder of concern. "You know..." He has to pause and clear his throat. "I didn't mean to scare you," he switches track smoothly. "You know I can see you on the ground, right? I'm not about to step on my _baby brother. _"  
  
The desperate apology in those eyes surprises Sam. He never means to make Dean feel that way. It was simply a reaction, one that was instinctive when dealing with people that towered over his head and he was small enough to get pinned to the ground by a single finger.  
  
Compared to a human, he is small and weak.  
  
Sam wishes he can make Dean understand it isn't his fault. It never will be. And so he tries.  
  
First, he steps out from under cover. The safety of the bed is deceptive, anyway. The mattress can be lifted by a human like Dean without a problem. One of those hands can shoot out to grab him where he hides. More vulnerability for Sam.  
  
Dean's eyes track Sam's movements, but he doesn’t make a move. It doesn't help that whenever Dean moves, Sam flinches. Because of this, the hunter is already learning to restrain unnecessary movements.  
  
The necessity saddens Sam.  
  
His brother shouldn't have to change who he is if he wants to be around his little brother without getting flinches or fear in return.  
  
"I-I know you're not," Sam manages to get out as he stares up at Dean. The older hunter has flattened himself against the dusty rug so they can talk and his eyes are _still _above Sam's head. Dean could put his chin against the ground and it would be the same.  
  
Sam is too small.  
  
"It's just..." Sam waves his hand at the open area between the beds, trying to ignore how small it looks in comparison to his surroundings. For so long, he lived in the walls and with people his own size. Now, he is with Dean constantly, and reminded of his curse every single moment.  
  
"You're really _big _" Sam finishes lamely, wishing he had the words.  
  
Dean's lips thin to a line, and Sam feels tension start to wind up his back. The sight of a giant with an intense glare like that on his face is not easy to take in at four inches in height. Dean doesn't mean it, but his size gets in the way of an innocent look.  
  
"Sam," Dean says, "I know you have to be careful. I just want you to know... I won't forget you're here. You deserve to be able to live without being afraid all the time. I... I want to _help _."  
  
This time, it is Sam's face that softens. He takes another step out into the open, this time completely away from the cover of the bed. "I know you do."  
  
He rests his small arm on one of Dean's massive hands and uses it to lean on. That huge hand could spring up at any time and coil completely around his body.  
  
But it doesn't, and it won't, and Sam knows this.  
  
"Just watch where you toss your dirty socks," Sam snarks up at his brother, feeling the last of the tension sloughing off at the return of their normal banter. Moments like this were when he barely even felt the size difference, and it was good. "I don't need the nightstand smelling like dirty feet all night." He wrinkles his nose and is rewarded with a chuckle from Dean.  
  
No matter how different, they will always be brothers.  
  
Which is probably why Sam finds a dirty sock lurking outside of the nightstand the next morning._  
  


* * *

  
Sam took a deep breath where he was standing, momentarily overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that came with the memory of Dean. He let the adrenaline start to work its way out through his arms, leaving them shaking from the temporary terror that hit him, realizing he’d just about blacked out after getting under the bed.  
  
Jacob was frozen, his steps faltered. His eyes shot down to the floor after catching the barest sign of motion down there. Only a step more and he'd have reached the same spot where he saw it, and his cheeks erupted in flame.  
  
 _Sam. Fuckdammit. He's awake._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean has issues, Sam has issues, Bowman hates cages, and Jacob is Jacob.
> 
> For those who follow the tumblr, you may recognize the flashback as one that we previewed some time back!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** August 16th, 2020 at 9pm.


	22. Interrupted Plans

Dean woke with a desperate gasp, almost tumbling out of his curled position.  
  
One hand caught the edge of the food bowl, and the other landed on a bar, then jerked back like the cool metal had burned him. Dean’s eyes, wide with the receding panic of the nightmare, flashed from side to side, looking for familiarity and finding none, more like a cornered animal than a person in those brief moments of waking.  
  
Bowman flinched and his startled wings flared half open as the noise drew his focus to Dean's cage. He and the others watched Dean for a surprised second. Bowman shifted along the wall of his cage, gripping the bars as his movement swayed the whole prison just enough to feel it.  
  
"Dean," he greeted. His voice sounded as tired as he looked. They couldn't even be sure they'd slept a full night, with nothing reaching past the covered window. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Have a drink a' water!" Vel chirped helpfully, pointing at the water dish in Dean's cage. "That helps me with the bad dreams sometimes."  
  
Vel’s cheerful voice was enough to draw Dean back to himself, blinking fiercely in the light. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he recalled the nightmare as it mixed with the events of the night before.  
  
No, Jacob wasn’t a giant. Dean was the one who was _small_ , and they couldn’t do anything about it.  
  
“Like crap warmed over,” he said to Bowman. “Thanks Vel!” Dean tried to make his voice more cheerful, waving at the young sprite, who, he could now see, would likely reach to his waist.  
  
It felt so damn odd to know that a _sprite_ could be that tall next to him.  
  
Dean reminded himself that Sam dealt with this constantly without complaining so much. Hell, Sam thought this was _normal_.  
  
Dragging himself over to the water dish on the other side, Dean stared into the clear liquid. Before taking a drink, he scooped up a drop, watching the edges of the water quiver on his hand as the surface tension held it in place. _So friggin’ weird…_  
  
Dean splashed his face, rubbing his hands tiredly through his hair to wet it and instinctively spiking the front.  
  
Bowman was soon too restless to stay seated. Now that he knew no one was ailing or too hurt, he got to his feet. He prowled to the door of his cage, glaring up at the lock. If that was just gone, he could fly free. He fanned his wings.  
  
"Vel, how soon do you think the man will be back?" he asked, glancing over to the knife he'd hidden by his own water dish. "Do I have time to try to get out?"  
  
Vel paused. "Um ..." His cheeks warmed. "Maybe? I dunno ... how to tell time in here."  
  
Bowman wandered back to the nearest corner of the cage and tried to offer a smile. It was tense. "Don't worry about it, Vel," he assured him. Then, he addressed Dean. "He did mention the man bringing food soon. Maybe ... maybe I can slip past him then."  
  
Dean glanced at his wrist. Of all things, he still had his watch. If only the duffel bag and cell phone had come along like it. “It’s just past six in the morning,” he informed them. “Bright and early.”  
  
Mind racing with plots already forming, Dean got up from the water dish after drinking his full of the stale, metallic liquid, glancing around the room. The lock on his cage matched the one on Bowman’s, and he scowled knowing what child’s play such an impediment would become if he could just get _normal._  
  
“If you can get out,” Dean said, thinking out loud, “duck out of the room as fast as you can. I can shoot out the light to cover your escape. It might cause enough confusion for you to slip out into the main house. You need to _get to Sam._ He’ll know what to do.”  
  
Bowman's wings twitched again, ready to follow through on Dean's advice. Before he could fly for freedom, he had to get that lock off the cage. He sent a fleeting glance to the other cage, where more of the nestlings stirred in their sleep. They'd been trapped long enough. He _had_ to do what he could to get them out.  
  
The boxy shelves on the walls and the stale air all around was as foreign as it could be for the Wellwood residents. Bowman saw no green in the room except for the sprites themselves.  
  
Newly frustrated and determined, he all but dove for the knife by his water dish. He tucked it into the scarf around his waist so he could climb the side of the cage, scrambling a bit as it swayed and tried to steal his balance away. He couldn't waste time.  
  
One arm looped through the bars to hold him steady and the other took the knife in hand. Slender fingers, not used to the feel of the handle, clutched it so tightly that Bowman's knuckles were pale. He reached around the lock, poking the shining blade of the knife into the opening there.  
  
"Blasted ... human ... things," he muttered as he worked. He could _feel_ different parts of the contraption shifting.  
  
His wings flared out behind him, quivering with anticipation. And still the lock didn't budge.  
  
A noise somewhere else in the human's vast dwelling drew a murmur out of the nestlings. Bowman could see them moving around in the corner of his eye, but he refused to look over. To break his concentration now, when he was so close.  
  
His heart fluttered. He didn't have time. In his head, the hopeful image of the bright green canopy and the lush surroundings of his home faded, replaced by the harsh lamp and the huge hands coming for him. That would be his fate all too soon, if he didn't get out.  
  
"I ... I can't get it!" he growled, frustrated. Footsteps approached somewhere beyond the door. "It won't unlock!"  
  
“Forget it!” Dean hissed, his voice urgent. He waved at Bowman in frustration, wishing he could do more to help his normally-smaller friend. “There’s no time, put the knife away!”  
  
Dean jerked to attention as the footsteps grew closer, his heart leaping into his throat. A deep, primal fear struck, embedded into him after having his size fucked with over the course of an entire week, and he dryly swallowed.  
  
 _Nothing_ in him was prepared to face down a giant again. He almost wanted to try turning over the metal food dish and crawl into a dark corner to hide from the world.  
  
 _No,_ a voice of steel spoke up inside him, one that sounded strangely like a deeper version of Sam. _You can do this, I_ know _you can._  
  
“We’ll try again later!” Dean insisted at Bowman, his urgency rising. If the sprite got caught, Dean couldn’t protect him.   
  
Bowman scowled at the lock, willing it to open. It didn't, and the footsteps came closer. His heart crawled somewhere up into his throat, and he had to hop down from the door of the cage. He stumbled and fell, dropping the knife next to the water dish once more.  
  
He'd failed. _This time,_ he told himself.  
  
The footsteps paused outside the door, and one of the nestlings squealed quietly as she tried to crawl as far from the door as she could. She knew what was coming. Bowman sat up and glared as the tall, rectangular door swung inward, admitting their captor.  
  
"Up early, you sun-hated sneak?" Bowman greeted, climbing the wall of the cage again to rattle the bars as much as he could. "And here we were hoping you'd slipped into a trance."  
  
The human ignored him. As he entered the room, Bowman noticed a plastic container in his hands, a lid hiding the contents from the room. The man strode past the cages, pointedly bumping Dean's cage with a shoulder as he went.  
  
"Feeding time," the scientist announced dispassionately. "Even you, little hunter, if you behave."  
  
Dean clung to the bars of his cage, his face green. Any trace of an appetite that might have come to him upon waking had fled as the cage, five feet in the air if it was a mile, swung from side to side. A deceptively calm sway compared to when it was smacked the night before, tossing him into the side, but enough to give him a clear view of the drop that lurked past the edge.  
  
Scrunching his eyes shut, Dean pretended he was on a boat. The sway was just the ocean. Nothing to worry about, nowhere to fall but in the water. He could climb back out again.  
  
When the queasy spell passed, Dean took the opportunity to sneer at the man. “We both know _that’s_ not going to happen.”  
  
The scientist allowed himself a smirk as he opened up the container, giving his back to Dean. The pristine white of the labcoat taunted both Dean and Bowman with how _easy_ it'd be to attack the man, if only they weren't trapped. If only they weren't the size of a finger.  
  
"Back," the human instructed, fixing his cold green gaze on the nestlings. They all scrambled to the far end of the cage, many clinging to Rischa to hide their faces in her side. She had no one to cling to herself, and could only watch as a hand opened up the door of their cage.  
  
Cuts of fruit and some vegetables were dropped into the nestlings' food container. The scientist made sure they received a variety before locking them up again, and giving them permission with a glance to eat.  
  
Then he turned on Bowman. "See how well trained they are, prime specimen? I wonder how long it will take you to be the same."  
  
"Try back when the sun has stopped shining," Bowman snipped. "You think bullying a bunch of children until they're scared of you counts as training?"  
  
"I have found that fear is more than adequate as a teaching method." Without breaking eye contact, the human lifted a hand towards Dean's cage.  
  
  
Dean flinched, then a glare replaced the fear on his face. “Unshrink me and we’ll see how well that fear works for ya!” he shouted, untangling his arms from the bars to back towards the center of the cage. This way, his limbs were safely inside and there was no danger of a flick coming and breaking an arm or leg.  
  
“You have me and Bowman,” Dean said. “Fine. Now let these kids go back home to their parents. They never did anything to you.”  
  
"And lose sources of good data?" The human smirked and, with a dismissive flick of his hand, set Dean's cage swaying again. Not enough to send him flying, but enough to keep it in constant motion. Enough to show Dean how easily he _could_ be tossed around.  
  
The container of food made a loud clatter as the man set it down on his workbench. Leaning in, he squinted at Bowman. "Don't think I didn't notice," he said with ice in his tone. Bowman inched away but refused to blink and break contact with those huge eyes. "You put that magic of yours to use overnight, helping your precious hunter."  
  
Bowman's heart suddenly fluttered and he had to take a short breath. The human still thought _Bowman_ had more healing power than the others.  
  
He had to keep him thinking that. "Yeah, well, you're a long way from earning the privilege yourself, so I'd avoid getting a grass cut if--"  
  
He didn't get to finish his taunt before the hands lifted again, easily undoing the lock that Bowman had struggled with moments ago. Already bored of his snark, the scientist didn't acknowledge Bowman's words any further. A hand slipped in the opening, a hand that Bowman knew could only bring more torment. Despite himself, a yelp of fear squeaked out of his chest and he flinched backwards, not registering the distant, angry shout from Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They need to catch a break!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** August 19th, 2020 at 9pm.


	23. The Meat-Eater's Defense

Jacob took a slow breath, unsure of what to do. When Sam didn't rush back out into the open to yell at him, somehow he felt worse for what he'd done.  
  
He'd let himself get into a false familiarity with how things should be. Jacob always watched his step in the woods, because there might be sprites somewhere near, hiding from him. He was used to it there, but not in a place like a motel room or any place that was more _human_ in nature.  
  
The realization of that mistake coiled around him and his heart sank. He was supposed to be helping, and looking out for Sam. The little guy was trusting him to do that.  
  
If Dean didn’t kick his ass for hot-wiring the Impala, he would for this.  
  
"Shit," Jacob muttered under his breath. Then, moving slowly and with stark awareness of his own bulk, he lowered himself to the floor. His hands braced on the worn down carpet while he adjusted his position, and by the time he wasn't moving anymore he was lying flat. All six foot five inches of him was as low as he could make himself, while he peered under the bed. He couldn't see where Sam hid, but he didn't pry, either.  
  
"Sam? Dude, I swear I wouldn't have hurt you ... I just didn't know you were awake," he stammered. He sounded like he was making excuses. "I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry."  
  
Sam closed his eyes, letting his head hit the bed support as he started to catch up to the words Jacob was saying, the memories of Dean in a similar position beginning to fade.  
  
He was small, but they cared enough to _try._ Jacob deserved another chance, just like Dean all that time ago.  
  
Even with that conviction, Sam was hesitant as he leaned around the side of the post, catching sight of Jacob, flat on his stomach. The kid was still bigger than where Sam was hiding, by a decent amount, but it was a good effort.  
  
“Look,” Sam said, taking a deep breath. “You just… _can’t_ go that fast around here.” He could feel red creeping up his face. Two years ago, the thought of telling a person Jacob’s size what to do would have never crossed his mind. “I can’t keep up with you like Bowman can.”  
  
Jacob's eyes were wide and attentive, all memory of sleepiness and a sore neck gone. He barely dared move, despite the uncomfortable position on the floor. He was just glad to see Sam unhurt when he peeked out from his hiding spot. He seemed so little, but Jacob gave his words as much care and consideration as he would anyone else's. The voice was quiet, but still deserved to be heard.  
  
He tried a sheepish smile, though the nerves still showed. He was learning how to deal with someone Bowman's size that acted very different from the little sprite. Very, very different. Bowman would have fluttered up to scold him about something or other as soon as he could.  
  
"You bet," he promised. "Won't happen again, I swear." He paused, and then shifted so he could lift his right hand off the floor and hold it up in a scout's honor gesture.  
  
He'd never been a scout, but it should work.  
  
"I was just heading to the sink for water, did you want to nab it first?" he offered, thinking to smooth over his mistake however he could.  
  
Sam raked his hand through his hair, stepping out from behind the bedpost at last. He was still coming to terms with telling a human that wasn’t Dean what to do, something he never even _tried_ with Bobby. It just felt _wrong_.  
  
“If you don’t mind,” Sam said, working past his innate shy nature that came with interacting with someone he didn’t know too well without Dean backing him up. “I was actually just on my way there… I forgot to ask for a cup of water last night when you set up my room. Dean usually leaves one so I don’t have to go all the way to the bathroom at night if I just need a drink. It’s a pretty long haul,” he tried to joke, stepping out from under the bed.  
  
Jacob's eyes strayed to the nightstand. The way he was flat on the floor, even that looked like quite a trek and it wasn't half of the distance Sam had to cross. For someone who couldn't simply flutter a pair of wings and take to the air, it would take a while. Jacob needed to stop thinking in terms of sprites.  
  
"All yours, dude," he said, his smile less nervous this time. He almost offered Sam a lift there, and then hesitated. He wasn't sure if he _should._ Instead, he mulled over a different train of thought. "I can go see if this place has edible breakfast options ... feeling adventurous?"  
  
“Only if you get some coffee going while you’re out,” Sam said agreeably. “I think we could both use a pick-me-up after yesterday.”  
  
Straightening his bag, Sam took a step towards the bathroom. “So… if we’re done here...” he said, working to hide the tension he felt at the thought of Jacob walking around the room with him on the floor. He was antsy to get to his destination now.  
  
Jacob's eyebrows went up and he nodded. "Seems like it," he replied with another smile. Even if the conversation was shy and cobbled together, he was glad they'd actually had it. He needed to stay mindful.  
  
With Sam's nerves in mind, he was careful when he pushed himself back and finally up off the floor. Since it always felt weird to loom too much over anyone Sam's size, he made sure there was plenty of floor space between them before he got to his feet. "I'll be right back," he noted, slipping his boots on. The coffee machine in the kitchenette started with a beep when he pushed the button, letting it begin brewing before he left.  
  
He only glanced back once before heading out, checking to see if Sam was still lingering by the bed. Then, the door closed, leaving the small hunter on his own.  
  


* * *

  
"Time for another test," the scientist announced, wrapping his hand around Bowman securely. His wings were squashed in that grip and only his head and shoulders remained free of the fist.  
  
Bowman thrashed even as the man drew him out into open air. The other hand retrieved the recording device from a pocket again, flicking it on with a thumb and setting it aside. "Metabolic notes for the prime specimen," he said for the device's benefit. Then he snagged something from the food container and held it up.  
  
Bowman recognized it immediately. A distantly familiar, savory smell wafted over his face, a reminder of the one time Jacob had offered him something called _jerky._  
  
"I am _not_ going to eat that!" he shouted, twisting and squirming in the firm grip around him.  
  
Dean punched the bars of his cage, his frustration at how _useless_ he was boiling over. “They’re _wood sprites,_ you idiot!” he shouted angrily, his chest heaving up and down. “Pacifists, vegetarians, whatever the hell you call it!” Dean might not be a vegetarian himself, but he respected that another species metabolized differently than humans. He would never push food on them that they didn’t want. “They _don’t eat meat._ I’d be surprised if any one of them even hurt a fly, and here you are trying to force _our_ ways on them.” He scoffed.  
  
Bowman turned his head to the side and grimaced as the sliver of meat was moved closer to his face. The human barely spared Dean's cage a glance. "These creatures have the dental profile of omnivores, and yet won't be convinced to eat meat," he noted, pointedly ignoring Dean's protests.  
  
Bowman wanted to gag as the smell overwhelmed his senses. The piece of meat was practically touching his lips, no matter that he balked away from it as much as he could.  
  
He wished he could sling another protest, but he worried that would invite the human to shove the food into his open mouth. He wasn't wrong; wood sprites _could_ eat meat, if they wanted to. Wellwood had a long standing tradition against it. Bowman only felt disgust for the 'food' held close to him.  
  
The human sneered after a full five seconds of the tense pose. He pulled the meat away from Bowman's face, carelessly shoving it through the bars of Dean's cage. Then, he lifted Bowman higher to peer at him.  
  
"The resistance appears to be out of preference. Considering limiting other food options to see if it forces a behavior change. That's an experiment for another day."  
  
Dean grabbed the jerky and tossed it into the food dish in his cage before it could slide out with the constant, _constant_ swinging. The sprites might not eat it but he needed to keep his strength up if there was any chance of them escaping this hellhole.  
  
Naturally, there was no chance he’d miss an opening like the one the scientist had left him, another chance for defiance. The day Dean didn’t rise to defend the sprites was the day he was dead.   
  
“How ‘bout I make you drink piss and eat _shit_ when I’m out of this cage?” Dean barked angrily at the scientist. “Just because we _can_ doesn’t mean we _should_. If they haven’t had meat before, you’ll make them sick trying to adjust to it!”  
  
The scientist scoffed in annoyance but kept his eyes on Bowman. Bowman squirmed in his grasp, even as the pressure built just enough to constrict his breathing. He was held barely inches away from the human's face, close enough to easily see teeth when the man spoke again.  
  
"I will find out what makes you tick, and I _will_ take that magic of yours," he warned.  
  
The free hand pinched more food to deposit in Bowman's cage. Half of it was fruit, and the other half meat. Then, Bowman was shoved back into the cage and dropped roughly on the bottom. "So keep up your strength."  
  
The cage was closed again and the man finally regarded Dean with more attention. "Step back from the door," he instructed. "If you tell me what you know, my little _sprite expert,_ I might give you extra rations."  
  
Dean stepped back, but more from self-preservation than any order from the scientist. One arm stayed raised protectively, the other clasped firmly to the gun tucked in his pants.  
  
“If you think I’m cooperating with _you,_ you’ve got a whole other thing coming,” Dean said darkly, prepared to act. “Keep the food. I’d rather starve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for Dean's potty mouth and sciencing.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** August 23rd, 2020 at 9pm.


	24. A Choice

There was a beat of silence as the nestlings, timidly rationing out their own food, glanced up. They stared in mixed wonder and worry at Dean. Like their wraith sprite friend, a human couldn't get any energy at all from the meager light that sometimes stayed on in the room. If Dean refused all food, he really _could_ starve.

Even Bowman frowned critically at Dean. He'd never be ungrateful for the man's help, but to go without food for too long could be disastrous for Dean.

Bowman didn't want his allies to suffer just for helping him and his village.

Fortunately for Dean, the scientist didn't take the bait. Rather than leave him with no food at all, he opened the cage to toss a few scraps into the plastic dish. They weren't the best options, but Dean would survive. 

For now.

Before the hand retreated from the cage again, a flick of the huge Dean-sized fingers sent a wave of force at him that shoved him back against the bars. The action illustrated his role there. Entertaining, but ultimately expendable. The scientist couldn't hurt the sprites without some other goal in mind.

Dean was fair game. The lock clicked loudly as he was sealed in again. He unsteadily climbed back to his feet, an arm wrapped tenderly around his chest.

"Little hunter, you've earned yourself a choice of which subject will begin the next tests," the human said, a smug gleam in those ice cold eyes. Green eyes so like Dean's and yet so unlike his at the same time swept over the cages containing sprites, as disinterested as if he were out shopping for dishes.

Bowman stood up and glared at the man's back while the nestlings scooted away from the scientist. They couldn't escape that leer. Bowman flared his wings partially open and gestured to himself. "Leave them alone! I'm ready for your Spirit-scorned tests!"

"I'm not deciding," the scientist dismissed. "For all I know, my little hunter will spare his favorite pet's _wings_ today."

The clear threat shocked Bowman out of his next retort. He could hear more than one nestling sniffling in their cage. Rischa's voice was faint, and it shook with fear, but she tried to reassure them. Bowman took quick breaths and stood up straighter. His glance to Dean was filled with a clashing mix of fear and determination.

Dean refused to meet Bowman’s gaze, stubbornly staring at the scientist. “You sick sonova _bitch_ ,” he breathed, his hands clenched into fists.

The choice he had was no choice at all, and he hated himself for it.

Dean could offer up one of the children-- young, innocent sprites who’d never harmed anyone in their lives. Their only crime was falling under this asshole’s gaze. Wrong place, wrong time. Of course, there was also Rischa, whom Sam and Dean both owed their lives to for driving out the infection that had tried stealing Dean’s mind away a year ago. She was the little protector of the kids, the only person who could comfort them with Dean and Bowman confined to their own cages.

Or Bowman.

Of all the sprites Dean had ever seen, Bowman prized his wings the _most._ They were his pride and joy, the essence of his being. Nixie had her water, Ilyana possessed flames of passion, but Bowman was a creature of freedom, of air, the embodiment of his race. To mess with the wings would be to tear a part of him away.

“You _enjoy_ this, don’t you, asshat?” Dean spat at the scientist. He cast his gaze at the floor, unable to look back at Bowman when he pronounced his fate. “Bowman. Take Bowman.”

The scientist's smirk was reserved, but wickedly smug and triumphant. He turned to Bowman's cage, drawing out the motion just to let the words hang in the air longer. Driving the pain deeper.

Bowman stood defiant, though his wings were folded tightly to his back and they quivered. He didn't know what the man had planned for him, but he doubted the threat was empty. Dean and Bowman were the ones with empty threats; this human had all the power, and he couldn't completely hide how much he enjoyed the fact. Putting Dean in his place brought him a sick joy. Bowman hadn't hated many people in his life, but this man earned a spot on the list.

Dean had a lot of pride in what he did; Bowman had _seen_ how determined the hunter could be against an enemy. The scientist was trying to break that away, piece by piece.

Soon, Bowman couldn't focus on his hatred for the man and the terrible treatment of Dean. Those hands appeared again, and Bowman had to worry about himself. He'd never _ever_ blame Dean for what happened, no matter _what_ happened, but his heart pounded with fear. The uncertainty loomed larger than the human himself.

All too soon, Bowman was gathered up in a fist once more. A jolt of panic spasmed in his limbs and he bit at the finger situated in front of him. The quick reaction was met with a thumb pressing against the side of his face, forcing him to let go and lean his neck to the side. He groaned as his shoulders and neck burned with pain.

They returned to the workbench like the day before. The recorder and food container scraped across the surface as the human shoved it aside.

This time, when Bowman was lowered to the table, the human laid him down on his front, keeping a hand flat over most of his body. The magnetic clamps were set in place, but Bowman's wings were left free. Exposed to the human's gaze and the bright lamp that switched on with a faint electric _bzzt._

Even knowing he couldn't escape those stupid magnets, Bowman struggled as much as he could. His heart fluttered against his ribs, chilled by the cold metal table.

He couldn't see the hands approaching him, but he saw their shadow slide over him. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold wracked his body.

Deft fingertips pinched around the edge of his wing, the first finger bone of the delicate limb. Bowman let out a frustrated growl, unable to stop the human from unfurling the wing against his will, stretching it out from his body until it was fully extended.

"Prime specimen's wings are in exquisite shape," the human noted. "Similar in build to bats' wings, complete with radial bones and a vestigial thumb."

The human's finger and thumb pinched around the verdant membrane of Bowman's wing, feeling the smooth, leafy texture. "The membrane is not like skin, despite the subject's fully developed stature. Microscope tests will be needed. Testing mobility first."

"Don't even dare!" Bowman blurted, renewing his uncomfortable squirming.

The human continued to ignore his protests. The other hand descended to open up his other wing, forcing it to unfurl as well. Bowman still couldn't turn his head enough to see the human's face, but he imagined the smirk ghosting across it well enough. "Stop it!"

"I would advise stillness," the man told him in a clipped tone. "Wouldn't want me to slip ..."

As if to demonstrate, the man moved Bowman's wings forward, still nearly flat against the table. The further up he moved the wings, the more it strained the muscles on Bowman's back where the membrane connected to him. It only stopped when a stifled yelp of pain escaped him.

"Range of upward motion more than standard," the scientist noted, almost sounding surprised. "Interesting."

* * *

  
Rischa's wings quivered. The other nestlings huddled near her, picking at their portions of food. The youngest ones didn't even understand what they were feeling, but Rischa recognized the cloying, sticky feeling of guilt. It wafted around the young sprites in a new burst every time Bowman cried out in pain from the work table.

The loudest song of guilt rang from outside the cage, however. Among the pain in the air and the cold malicious intent of the scientist, Dean's guilt drew Rischa's gaze.

"Dean," she called to him in a gentle voice, trying to catch his eye. There were so many layers of emotion deep within him; Rischa had never met someone so adept at hiding his feelings from others, but his best efforts didn't work on her. "Dean. This isn't your fault."

“Of _course_ it’s my fault!” Dean snapped reflexively, without a thought. He couldn’t tear his eyes from Bowman, a green splash of color among drab, dull surroundings. A world that would suck that color and life out of him relentlessly if they didn’t get free-- and _soon._

Pacing angrily from side to side, Dean’s fist clenched and unclenched. The food behind him went ignored. With Bowman suffering, his stomach churned. Any sense of hunger was gone.

“It’s my _job_ to get everyone out of here,” Dean growled, turning sharply on a heel. “That’s the whole reason I got called, and here I am, stuck!” He punched a fist into the bars, a twinge in his ribs warning him from the actions.

The pain couldn’t stop him. Nothing could.

“What’s the _point_ ,” Dean kicked the water dish as he took his frustrations out on the closest inanimate victim, “if I can’t even _help_ the people that need me most?! ”

With that last kick, the strain and anger all caught up to him, rushing down on him. Dean collapsed on the ground between the food and water dish, his head buried in his hands.

Nothing he did these days helped _anyone_. He couldn’t stop the scientist from torturing Bowman, he couldn’t get out of a damn _cage._

Couldn’t save Sam from his own cage.

Couldn’t stop the witch from killing their dad.

A friggin’ _giant,_ and he couldn’t stretch out his arm and break open a cage that fit between his fingers.

Useless.

Dean’s shoulders heaved from sobs he wouldn’t let escape. Not a sound passed his lips, but water leaked from between his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** August 26th, 2020 at 9pm.


	25. Learning the Ways of a Hunter

Alone in the room, Sam wasted no time getting to the bathroom sink for his delayed morning ablutions. He’d never thought that Dean’s offhand way of helping, providing small amenities that normally didn’t occur to Sam at the time, would feel like such gaping holes in his life.  
  
Once, he’d lived without access to running water at all, aside from what they could tap into in the pipes. He could deal with a few missing amenities until they found Dean.  
  
By the time Jacob’s shadow could be seen moving along outside the room window, Sam was back on the table, surveying the book he’d fallen asleep in the night before. He was sure to retrieve the small bit of pencil lead tucked between two pages, where it had fallen from his hand.  
  
Two knocks echoed into the room from outside, a deliberate sound that also conveyed haste. When the door opened shortly after, it became clear; Jacob was balancing a paper plate on one hand, trying not to spill it as his other actions jostled the food on it.  
  
His eyes first went to the ground, and then he gave a quick scan of the room before finding Sam on the table. He smiled, relieved. "Hey," he greeted, walking over to set the plate down well away from any of the books. There was some bacon and eggs, staples for a continental breakfast, as well as some toast. "They had some fruit, but it looked pretty miserable."  
  
“Trust me, I’m the _last_ person who’s gonna complain about that,” Sam commented as he stepped down from the book to look the plate over. “I’ve lived in motels over half my life. _Warm_ food is more we could usually hope to find.”  
  
Taking a few steps towards the food, Sam paused, realizing he was treating things like he was with Dean again. “You mind?” he asked, gesturing at the food and flushing slightly. Couldn’t just _take_ the food. He’d only known Jacob for a day now.  
  
Jacob shrugged. "Go ahead," he replied, missing the real reason Sam would have paused. He was so used to Bowman's methods, fluttering right up to something new whether it was food or some other human thing, and _then_ asking. Sam's manners were a pleasant surprise.  
  
Holding back from the food, Jacob went to find the coffee pot filled with the dark brown liquid. He didn’t plan to have any himself, but he did his best to prepare a container of it for Sam, bringing it all over next to the food. He made sure he gave Sam plenty of space as he picked out his breakfast options.  
  
That done, Jacob reached out to brush the trackpad of the laptop. The drive whirred to life as the idle machine woke up and prepared to display things once more.  
  
As it worked, Jacob leaned his chin on his hand. "So ... I didn't really find a lot, yesterday," he admitted. "Could be I was just looking in the wrong spots, but ... in case there isn't anything in the books, what would be our next step?"  
  
Sam gathered up his food, settling down a few inches from the plate to a mix of bacon, eggs and toast, one of his favorite morning meals despite the way he ragged on Dean for the expected lack of fruit.  
  
“Well, we need to see if anything out-of-the-ordinary is happening in town,” Sam said as he thought it over, chewing slowly through the thick bacon. “Bobby’ll look into things, too, and send us updates when he finds anything that might be linked. If we do find anything strange happening, we’ll have to go in and interview people, see if we can get to the bottom of this.” He shrugged. “There’s a lot of possibilities for it, we just need to start shortening the list.”  
  
"Interview people?" Jacob echoed, keying in on one part of Sam's explanation more than the rest. He couldn't imagine that being an easy task, trying to figure out something supernatural from other people without looking _completely insane._ He could only hope they didn't end up having to do that.  
  
"Makes sense, um. I guess," he said, claiming a piece of bacon for himself since it seemed like Sam had taken his pick. "Bowman really glossed over all these parts of the monster-hunting business."  
  
“Bowman saw the wrong end of hunting,” Sam cautioned as he started on his eggs. It didn't bother him to be sitting close to Jacob while he was eating. Unlike others his size, Sam knew humans would never think about the possibility of _eating_ someone smaller than them. Dean was _horrified_ at even the implication, turning pale the few times it had come up. Sam trusted him to the extent he’d sat on Dean’s plate a few times when they were short on space.  
  
He might not go that far with Jacob yet, but the basic trust was there, and that’s what mattered.  
  
“Sprites are pretty out there, as far as what we deal with. Interviews are a little more on the ordinary side of hunting,” Sam continued his explanation. “Sometimes, the monster we find isn’t the monster you expect. The werewolf next door. A haunted house is _really_ haunted. Someone hiding a deep, dark family secret. The only way to get to the bottom of those isn’t to run in, guns blazing. You’ve gotta talk it out, slide past law enforcement and get rid of the monster before it strikes again. Police just ain’t equipped to handle a monster that only dies to _silver_ bullets.”  
  
After another moment of thought, Sam shrugged again. “Not that I ever do the interviews. That kinda thing is up to Dean.”  
  
Jacob mulled it all over, taking a discreet bite of his bacon while he did so. Sprites were skittish about humans and their eating habits, so he usually kept some space between him and the village if he had to eat something. There was only one table in the room, so he did his best not to make it obvious. Jacob's habits, born out of his time with such different people the same size, didn't always match up with the miniature human.  
  
The last part of the explanation stuck out to him and he almost smirked. Almost. Instead, a nervous "Ha" escaped him and he glanced back to Sam.  
  
"You might not be the one doing the interviewing, but you'll probably have to give me a script or something. If I end up having to do that. I'd just look crazy."  
  
Sam thought about that, cocking his head. “I don’t think you’d look crazy.” He sized Jacob up. “You’re plenty tall enough, you just need the confidence to pull it off.” He was quoting Dean at this point. “All you need is to look and sound like you know exactly what you’re doing, and people will eat up the BS you dole out.”  
  
Jerking a thumb at the door, Sam grinned. “Besides, Dean showed me how to fake an ID. We can make up a brand new identity for you if we need to interview anyone.”  
  
Jacob froze as the implication struck him. "Holy shit," he muttered, once again grinning sheepishly. A fake ID. There was no way he could let his family know what he was doing out here. At least he'd had some practice keeping the sprites a secret.  
  
"So you'll teach me how to make a fake ID?" he echoed, feeling like they were at the start of some (very weird) spy movie. This didn't _happen_ to most people. Jacob had been surprised by a lot of things ever since meeting Bowman, and somehow it never wore off. "Dude that's kinda badass. Not to make light of everything ... but it is."  
  
Sam waved it all off. “We do this all the time,” he insisted. “Really, Dean’s the one you should be calling badass. I’m still just learning, and it’s not like I can help too much when things get rolling.” He was dismissive of his own contributions. The longer Dean was gone, the more Sam could see just how much work his older brother put into each and every case they took.  
  
“There’s some badges in the glove compartment in the Impala,” Sam continued on in a thoughtful voice. “If we can find a Kinkos in town, I should be able to make it up for you. The fake IDs are something I’m better at, since I can see the detail you and Dean miss.” He scanned Jacob up and down, as much of the tall teenager as he could see from his seat on the table. “But really, we’ll need to get you a change of clothes. You can’t pull off a disguise looking like _that._ ”  
  
Jacob's eyebrows shot up and he could feel the sudden heat in his face. He glanced down at himself, at the rumpled hoodie he wore over worn jeans. He'd dressed for a camping trip. He definitely hadn't planned for someone four inches tall to appraise him. At most, Bowman would have a snarky comment about the zipper on the front, because zippers had fascinated the little sprite since they first met.  
  
"Uhm. Okay," he stammered, giving Sam an expectant look. "So, am I going for the Bond look or something else?" he asked. _A disguise and a fake ID. What the hell._  
  
Sam snorted. “Well… probably not,” he said dryly. “For one thing, I don’t think you’ll fit into Dean’s FBI suit. There isn’t a chance. For another, it depends on the disguise you wear.” He tilted his head in thought. “A reporter always works pretty good for Dean,” he mused. “Get you some nice clothes, an official-looking notebook, we might have something.”  
  
 _Holy shit._ Sam was completely serious as he mulled things over out loud. It really started to sink in that Jacob was going to be doing all of that. Putting on a disguise, lying about being a reporter ... all of it to try to find Dean and the missing sprites. It wasn't like Sam could walk up to someone and ask questions, so it really was on Jacob.  
  
"Okay," Jacob said slowly, hesitantly. "I could go get that sometime soon, I guess. I wasn't making a ton of progress with the research ... Only interviews I ever did were for school junk, though, so I might be a little rusty."  
  
“I’ll go with you for any interviews,” Sam reassured. “I might not be much help with _talking_ to other humans,” he suppressed a shudder at the thought of being spotted, “but I’m good at reading the situation. I’ve practiced with Dean a few times, relaying messages when he needs the backup.”  
  
Those were some of the good memories. Sam enjoyed the nights he accompanied Dean to a bar or two to scam some cash out of the patrons. There wasn’t much that could stop the pair of them; Sam made it almost impossible to lose at poker due to his ability with reading people, and Dean was a deadshot in pool. All he had to do was throw a few games, pretend like he was drunk, and they would toss their money down.  
  
“When you’re out, you should stop at the library,” Sam mulled, glancing at the books they had. “Nothing here is really going to do us any good. And pick up a paper at the store to see what’s going on in town now.”  
  
Jacob nodded blankly. A part of him focused on how casually Sam listed off what they needed. Things like _library_ and _newspaper_ weren't in Bowman's vocabulary at all, but just like when he navigated the laptop with ease, Sam didn't even have to think about it. He just _knew_ what to do next. Jacob was glad to have him around, because he never would have found anything on his own.  
  
"Can do," he said appreciatively. Odd as the errands were, he could actually do them. Better than spinning his wheels on research he didn't fully understand. "I'll wash up and head out ... " his eyes strayed to the notebook he'd kept next to the laptop. "If there's something specific I should look out for at the library, jot it down?"  
  
Sam brushed the crumbs from his hands and the few that had fallen on his shirt. “Right.” Since he was done eating anyway, he figured he’d get started while the list was fresh on his mind.   
  
_New clothes, newspaper, books…_ Sam recited them in his mind, jogging quickly over to the notepad. He rarely wrote in the size needed for humans to read, and glanced at the pencil lead as he prepared himself. He might need a replacement by the time he was through.  
  
Working carefully, Sam was able to make the letters large enough to stretch from one line to the next in the ruled paper, and he was proud of that fact. He quickly began to fill in the list, his hand becoming coated in pencil lead dust as he went. Some of the letters smudged slightly because of it, but not enough to distort them.  
  
Frowning at the symbol gracing the page close by, Sam wondered what books might help them identify. _Symbols of the Occult,_ he wrote in, figuring the library had to have _something_ similar to it. He sketched out a few other possibilities, then added one he remembered borrowing before on ancient Latin.  
  
By the time Sam was done, the list was longer than he was tall. He stood, pacing alongside it to reread his choices and make sure they were all clear.  
  
While Sam worked, Jacob excused himself from the table to go about his own morning routine. A quick shower washed away the drowsiness of the night, but it couldn't quite wash away all the crazy revelations of the past 24 hours. They rattled around in his head and clamored for his attention, and all Jacob could think about was the fact that the sprites were all in danger the longer he took to figure everything out.  
  
It meant something that they hadn't heard from Dean yet.  
  
When he emerged from the bathroom at last, he sported a change of shirt and jeans but the same worn hoodie that hadn't passed inspection. He wandered back and peered at the list Sam had written for him, counting off the different stops in his head.  
  
"Thanks, dude. This shouldn't take me too long and I can head back," he determined. _Then I'll have to find another way to be useful._  
  
Before he headed out, he went to the duffel bag he'd all but abandoned since bringing everything in and dug out Dean's cell phone again. The screen showed no missed calls, but there was still a chance. He set it on the table among the other research items, eyeing the device in case it took that moment to come to life with that guitar riff. "Just in case," he reasoned.  
  
Sam would be able to answer if Dean called, and if he didn't ... at least he'd have an easier way to call Jacob back to the room if he needed and had the time.  
  
Sam nodded. “Good plan. I can send Bobby a text while I work, too. See if he’s got any leads for us to check out yet.”  
  
Jacob couldn't help one more glance at the table before he headed out the door, watching Sam settle back down to research. It grated against him to leave someone so small and vulnerable alone in the room. A distant memory returned to him, of the first time he'd ever contacted Sam and Dean over the phone. Dean's proud, stubborn voice insisting that Sam was a hunter in his own right.  
  
 _And no one will ever say differently._  
  
Jacob wasn't about to make a liar out of the guy. "Don't party too hard without me," he joked instead. Then, he was gone once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob, you sweet summer child.
> 
> Sam will teach you the ways.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** August 30th, 2020 at 9pm.


	26. Errand Boy

The errands were straightforward. Straightforward, but strange. The newspapers came first, and then the library. Jacob wasn't sure how many books to check out, but he erred on the safe side. The librarian, an absolutely petite old lady, raised her eyebrows as her shaky hands processed each tome.

His height already set him apart from most of the library's regular crowd. His book list might make him a breakroom story for years to come. He smiled politely when he left.

The clothes gave him pause. Luckily, the local department store had something in his size. He had to hope it would work; he'd never paid much attention to what reporters wore.

Despite reassuring himself that nothing could have gone wrong, Jacob's normally-controlled nerves had frayed by the time he returned to the motel room. He knocked twice on the door, and prayed that when he went in, he wouldn't find himself all alone on a case he didn't know how to solve.

Contrary to Jacob’s worries, Sam was still in the room, still working on research. Not much had changed, though the phone had been pushed next to the laptop where Sam was working, the notification light glimmering blue in a steady, blinking pattern. One of the first things Sam ever did with the phone was turn off the sounds and vibration, finding them grating and harsh to listen to, and unnerving how the vibration could shake him down to the bone.

Sam glanced up, grinning to see Jacob returned. “Hey!” The coffee had done its magic, waking him up and giving him the energy to face the day.

Then Sam saw how many books Jacob had in his arms, and his eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Did you bring the entire Library of Congress in from the car at once?”

Jacob tilted his head down, noticing how big the stack of books looked compared to Sam. He might as well be carrying a house into the room. He smiled, gladdened to hear a joke after the somber mood of the day before. "Nah, not _all_ of it," he jested back. When he set the books and newspaper on the table, he did his best not to shake the whole thing. Every little wobble could knock Sam off balance.

"They just had plenty that sorta fit your list," he explained. "Figured it was better to have one and not end up needing it than the other way around."

“Probably for the best,” Sam agreed.

Stepping down from the laptop, Sam walked around the pile to read over the titles, inwardly approving Jacob’s choices. They’d have the books to search for any possible leads on the symbol and teleportation spells, and the newspaper would help them discover if anything odd was going on in town. The brothers and Jacob had been so busy with the sprites’ problem, they didn’t know if it had struck anywhere else. After Dean vanished, Sam knew there was a possibility that other humans had been taken as well.

“Bobby hasn’t had any luck yet,” Sam said offhand, pacing back over to the phone and stomping on the phone to light up the screen. It glowed to life, the latest message from Bobby gracing the screen. 

**No leads; calling in favors.**

“He’s going to see if a friend of his has any experience with teleportation,” Sam explained. “Rufus has been hunting the longest of anyone we know, and he knows when to not ask questions.” It was with a pang that Sam remembered the condition they’d left the man’s cabin in only a few days ago. Dean was lucky he hadn’t busted straight through the ceiling with Celeste’s attack. “ _Someone_ has to know where it came from. Magic doesn’t just come out of thin air.”

Jacob paused to mull over the phrase, but nodded dutifully. What little magic he'd seen before had _felt_ like it came out of thin air. He knew better; the sprites could do amazing things, but they had a source of magic Jacob could barely comprehend. He doubted it was any easier to figure out the _hows_ of whatever was taking people now.

He picked up the newspaper and glanced across the headline. The local headline only had to do with some summer carnival; no one important to the small town had disappeared.

"I can look for anyone dropping off the radar in here," he offered. That kind of research would be a lot easier for him than poring over the books.

Sam nodded to show he was listening. “I’ll finish up on the laptop, then work through one of the texts on symbols,” he agreed. Between the two of them, Sam was most likely to pick up on similarities to various symbols and sigils as he studied. Not only was he small enough to see every detail, he was uncannily adept at learning new languages. Though he could only speak English fluently, due to his childhood education being cut short, he’d swiftly relearned and excelled at Latin.

With a plan laid out, Jacob shifted the books around. Sam's first choices were left lying open, bindings creaking for the first time in years. There was no way Sam could have pulled them from the pile on his own.

Then, it was back to work.

The newspaper didn't have as many hidden clues as Jacob had hoped for. No striking revelations stood out, and he never had any _eureka_ moments.

Jacob even read the classified ads for some kind of hint before he sighed and set the papers down in front of himself. He rubbed at his tired eyes. "Nothing in the paper worth noting except some ... professor guy not showing up to receive some award or other. They're not calling it a missing persons case, though."

He leaned on his elbows and eyed up the stack of books. "Last time I could help the village, it was a lot simpler than this. Kinda painful, but simple."

Sam noted down the would-be missing person in his journal, adding it to the small list of useless facts they’d found so far during the day. Sitting back with a sigh, he looked over at Jacob. “Hunting _sounds_ like it’s all fighting and killing monsters, but in reality it ends up like this more often than not. Searching desperately for the monster or a way to _kill_ said monster.”

That said, it wasn’t like Sam normally _minded_ research. It came naturally to him, despite how small he was. Dean was the one who was always itching to _do_ something, a fact that got him in trouble more often than not.

His curiosity piqued, Sam frowned as he remembered what Bowman had mentioned about Jacob the last time they’d met. “Bowman said something about you helping out, but we didn’t get many of the details,” he said hesitantly. “What _happened?_ How’d you get to know so many sprites?”

Jacob smirked, part of him surprised that Bowman hadn't talked their ears off about the whole adventure. Knowing Bowman, he must have glossed over their successes to focus on the events he liked to scold Jacob for. "I think ... when you get down to it, I was a distraction more than anything."

He folded his arms on the table. "The first time I met Bowman, I ... wasn't on best behavior," he admitted. "I caught him. Now, I _swear_ I wanted to let him go, but one of my friends with me ... he called in this hunter guy. Not like your kinda hunter, either, just some tracker who hated sprites.

"Dude was a maniac. I don't care if he really did have some personal beef with a sprite somewhere. He was ready to expose Wellwood no matter what it took, so I stood up to him. All looks aside, I'm not much of a fighter, but I guess I threw him off a little. They told me that after that he was more and more off his game."

Sam leaned in as Jacob talked, growing more interested in the story. Hearing it from a human perspective put a new spin, and he found himself wanting to know everything.

He’d had his own experiences with humans taking advantage of people smaller.

“I’m glad they didn’t get exposed,” Sam said, wide-eyed. He knew the consequences to his own people if that kind of thing happened. Some would be fine, but others… Taken away, enslaved or turned into pets, killed like rodents… it all depended on the human, and not everyone was like Dean or Jacob. “Our kind of hunter or not, all it takes is one person to ruin it for everyone.” Images of Gordon Walker danced in his mind.

Jacob nodded. It wasn't his place to ask about it, but he had a feeling Sam knew the exact same fear of exposure. That was one worry that would transcend the differences between their upbringing.

"I just don't get why anyone would go after _Wellwood._ It's the most peaceful place I've ever seen," he commented offhand. Jacob had been drawn back so many times since his first encounter with Bowman. The idyllic place, surrounded by uninhibited nature, could calm anyone.

He smiled. "I heard you guys got a Spirit dream after you helped out," he said. "That's something else we got in common, She visited me while I was ... when the sprites were healing me. _That_ was kinda weird and cool." The memory hadn't faded in the years since.

Mention of the Earth Spirit brought an instant smile to Sam’s face. One of the better moments in his life. “Yea…” he said wistfully. “We got to meet Her after we finished off the lich and his… undead hordes of wolves.” He shook his head at how insane it all sounded. “It was, um… Bowman and I…” He had to pause to compose his thoughts. Those memories sent him into disarray. “We got to see Dean at the same scale, just for a few minutes. It was the first time since I was a kid, and back then I was nowhere near finished growing. It was… nice.”

Sam stared into the distance for a moment, remembering. Then, he brightened. “And we found out Bowman’s not actually on the same scale as I am. He’s _supposed_ to be shorter than me,” a bit of mischief sparkled in Sam’s eyes, “but still taller than Dean.”

The last part was said with a more serious voice. “Without the sprites, we might have lost Dean. Not to death, but to the lich, like those wolves… they almost turned him against us.”

Jacob smirked faintly, hearing about the sizes being equalized for the others to stand together for once. Suddenly, he understood a bit of why Dean was so miffed with him for the crime of being tall; Dean wasn't short by any means, but he happened to end up shorter than two guys that normally fit in his pocket, all things equal. The Earth Spirit seemed to enjoy playing with scales.

Hearing about the dark magic nearly overcoming Dean, he winced. He'd heard about that near-disaster from Rischa. Her descriptions of the "life-sickness" painted a harrowing picture. If Dean had been taken, there might not have been a village left for Jacob to visit.

"The sprites saved my ass, too," he finally admitted. "Rischa was too young and Cerul was too hurt to try to heal me like Dean, but _Bowman_ actually stepped in with some others." Jacob tapped a spot on his chest close to the shoulder. "The Spirit actually showed me ... I got to stand at the same scale as Bowman and _also_ see how I looked to him ... That was such a trip."

What Jacob was saying rang a bell in Sam, and he cast his mind back, trying to remember everything Bowman had said all that time ago. “But… I thought only certain sprites could heal,” he said in confusion. “Rischa and Cerul because they have the Voice. Bowman had us hike all the way to the village to get Dean healed. We almost didn’t make it in time.” 

Jacob shook his head sheepishly. "Well... you're right, really," he admitted. "Those two are the only ones that can do the Healing Touch thing..." he paused, organizing his thoughts. It inevitably brought old memories to the surface as he did.

"Bowman and the others couldn't do enough to make me heal faster, so I still had to wait a long time for the wound to seal up. They kinda ... I think they gave me enough energy to make it long enough to get to more medical help," he explained. The pain of those weeks was long gone, but the memory of it might stay with him. "Bowman would have worn himself out trying to help Dean like that. He passed out for hours after helping me."

Sam nodded. “That makes more sense.” He’d seen and felt how the energy of the Earth Spirit worked, perking Dean up after his injury healed and infusing energy into everyone after the Spirit Dream. It was unique, and a much preferred form of magic compared to others he’d seen and experienced. Drowning with Nixie’s healing power was one that stood out in his mind, and he had to suppress it with a shudder.

"Kinda _wish_ I coulda gotten the same healing," Jacob admitted with a small hint of disappointment. His timing had been off for Rischa to be able to do anything to help him, and Cerul had suffered a similarly disastrous injury. "Took forever to heal on my own, and I had to have a cane at some point ... the shitty nicknames, Sam. They don't stop."

It was impossible to suppress a smirk now, and Sam downright grinned. “You might have dodged a bullet with Dean, then. He’s the most persistent person I’ve met with nicknames. He _never gives up._ ”

There was still a bit of curiosity in Sam, aroused by all the vague descriptions from Jacob. “What _did_ happen?” he asked, briefly forgetting his normal aversion to such personal topics. “What did the hunter do to you?”

Even though Jacob had been trying to dance around the issue for politeness' sake, he didn't mind answering. "He ah ... he shot me right after I let loose a few sprites he had trapped. I even have a souvenir, they left the bullet in after everything." One hand drew a circle in the air an inch over the old wound.

“You have a _bullet_ in you?” Sam blanched. He’d seen the bullets Dean used, even handled them himself from time to time, like when he’d attempted hiding in a pocket, only to land on Dean’s supply of extra silver bullets. It hurt like a bitch to land on a supply of metal bullets, but the worst part had been the metallic _clink_ that followed, nearly giving his position away. 

“How?” he blurted. He held out his hands, approximating the size of the bullets he knew. “It has to be like… _half_ my size, at least, right? Doesn’t it hurt?”

Jacob's eyebrows went up. "Woah, don't worry," he said, a smile working its way onto his face. He rested his chin on his folded arms, trying (and failing) to be closer to Sam's level again.

"It hasn't hurt for a long time. I think they wanted to avoid surgery since it's so close to my heart, and it wasn't doing any damage. I do have to carry a card explaining it if I have to go through a metal detector, though."

Sam’s eyes darted back to where the spot Jacob had indicated was now hidden from sight, still having a hard time getting over the revelation. “You… must set them off worse than Dean does, don’t you?” he asked, trying at some levity. He shook his head in disbelief. “And here I thought _I_ had it bad,” he mulled, briefly reflecting back to Nixie. At least his injury was gone without a trace.

Jacob chuckled quietly. "It's no big deal to me, I'm just grateful I made it," he replied. "I owe the sprites whatever help I can give them."

He couldn't help but wonder about Dean setting off metal detectors with his arsenal of weapons, and Sam diving into monster-hunting despite his size. Their lives had been that crazy for a lot longer than Jacob's had. "I'm gonna bet you've had more close calls, though, if we're really counting. _Most_ of my Wellwood visits have been pretty chill since that one."

Sam laughed. “I think Dean has the most close calls between us, but he has a hard time hiding,” he joked. “We… manage. Hunting’s a tough job, but _someone_ has to do it. Otherwise, innocents would keep dying.” He shrugged, naturally downplaying his own role. “Dean’s been doing this his entire life. I only started helping out a few years back.”

Jacob glanced across the table at the books and the laptop they had spread out, covering most of the surface with research material. The seriousness of the case was ever present in how determined Sam was to figure things out, to find his brother as well as the missing sprites. "Seem like an expert to me," Jacob commented with a smirk. "Without you taking charge I wouldn't have known the first thing to do. I never would have thought interviewing someone might help."

Sam shook his head. “But I can’t _do_ anything about it without your help,” he insisted, waving off his contributions. He ticked the issues off his fingers as he went. “Can’t talk to people. Don’t know _how_ to talk to most people. Can’t reach the pedals to drive. Dude, I can’t even move the _duffel_ bag on my own. Knowing what to do only goes so far without someone around to help.”

Jacob tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Maybe," he allowed. From what he'd heard, Sam and Dean worked as a team. "Bowman and the sprites don't seem to notice a difference, at least."

He nudged absently at the newspapers he'd abandoned. "We're just gonna have to do what we can. I'm sure we can make up for whatever we're missing between us."

“Yeah.” Sam tried to push away his worries. With Dean still MIA, it was up to the two of them to figure things out. There was no time for him to wallow in self-pity when children were in danger.

Sam stood, and stretched. After hours of leaning over books and craning his head to read news articles on the laptop, it felt like a blessing to be able to tear his eyes away. “If we’re going to head into town to do any interviews, we’ll need to get you your own fake ID,” Sam mused. “There’s no way you can use one of Dean’s until we fix it up.” There was about zero resemblance between Dean and Jacob. 

"Right," Jacob remembered. _One of Dean's._ The reminder that Dean carried several fake IDs around drew his gaze back to the plastic bag of new clothes he'd managed to find. His disguise. _If there was ever a time to lie convincingly ..._

"I'll just get changed and we might as well head out," he said, sitting up and pushing his chair back from the table. He was happy to see he didn't shake the table too much. "Be right back."

While Jacob was gone, Sam set about finishing up his work, making a few annotations in his journal before closing it up. It would be good to get out of the room and clear his head. All Sam could focus on here was what he _couldn’t_ do. It was time to get out and _do_ something.

Sam checked Dean’s cell, sighing as he took in the lack of messages from Bobby. They weren’t the only ones having a hard time of it. All they had to go on was one small symbol and a bunch of missing people. Children and adults both, human and sprites.

Before powering down the phone, Sam punched in a message to Bobby to let him know what they were up to. A response was near-instantaneous, cautioning Sam to look out while they weren’t in the room, but also saying it was a good idea to get Jacob prepared.

When Jacob emerged from the bathroom, he sported a dark button-up shirt and nicer pants, a definite departure from his usual jeans-and-hoodie style. He paused to check the mirror, adjusting the collar and _trying_ not to look too young for the role he was aiming for. His height would only go so far in convincing people. He pushed his hair back and sighed; this was the best they had.

Before he returned to the table for Sam, he picked up his wallet. Checking inside, he froze, and did a mental tally of what he'd already spent his cash on.

He stowed the wallet away hastily and gave Sam a sheepish smile. "Hey, uh," he began, not keeping Sam's gaze. "Hope you don't mind, I think I'll need to stop at the ATM to get more cash ... gotta make sure I have enough for the print job."

Sam looked up from where he was hunched over the smartphone, a look of surprise on his face. Mentally, he tallied up what he knew was in the car, glad he’d passed by his panic room on the way to unlock the Impala the day before. A wad of cash from Dean’s winnings a few nights at poker with Sam’s help. “Backup cash,” Dean had dubbed it. “Something to keep us going if the cards get shut down.”

Waving that off, Sam shook his head. “Don’t worry about the money,” he assured Jacob. “I’ve got it covered.” Dean wouldn’t begrudge them the emergency funds. He’d stated himself that it was Sam’s as much as his on multiple occasions.

"Oh," Jacob did a double take. Sam definitely didn't have any pockets big enough to hold any bills, but after so many other surprises, Jacob chose not to doubt him. He scratched at the back of his head. "Alright, if you're sure."

He offered a hand at last, and an encouraging smile. In the back of his mind, he was glad he'd at least thought to get a shirt with a pocket in the front, like the one Sam had hidden in when they first met.

Sam took the hand without any trepidation, far more at ease with Jacob than he’d been the day before. “Once we get to the car, let me off onto the floor,” he instructed. “I need to get something from the panic room before heading out.”

Jacob nodded and dutifully ferried Sam to his shoulder. With a plan and a destination in mind, he was more decisive in collecting his things and heading for the door. He made sure no one was around, and hearing no cries of alarm from Sam, felt it safe to cross the few steps to the car.

He almost went to his own vehicle, correcting himself with one faltering step. When he finally sat in the front seat of the Impala again, he released a sigh.

"I'll... try to hot wire it again once you're back," he decided, giving Sam a lift to the floor, like a steady, living elevator. 

Sam nodded to show he was listening, his grip tight on his satchel. Once Jacob’s hand was close to the ground, he sprang off and hit the ground running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys are bonding!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** September 2nd, 2020 at 9pm.


	27. A Burden and a Gift

Rischa tilted her head and her face showed the sorrow she could feel drifting over from Dean. Her empathy couldn't be ignored or switched off, she'd learned. Cerul, her patient teacher, had told her time and again to acknowledge the hurt without being consumed by it. She needed that skill while they were all captive.  
  
She was the only one keeping the nestlings from giving up. Dean would be harder to convince of the same, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try.  
  
Bowman yelped again as one of his wings was twisted beyond what it could handle. Rischa didn't let on that she felt an echo of his pain in her own wing; if the scientist discovered her, he could use her to hurt the others. She _knew_ he would if given the chance.  
  
She focused on Dean, wishing she could go to him and hold him like she held the nestlings. It was her job as a sprite with the Voice to _be there_ for those who were ailing. She was given the responsibility and she couldn't squander the gift.  
  
Knowing what to say was a gift she wasn't sure she had yet. "Just... just think of Sam. He's not going to give up on finding us. And you taught him a lot about that, right?"  
  
No answer came at first, Dean’s small, hunched-over form looking littler than ever overshadowed by two metal containers. Containers that should fit in the palm of his hand likely weighed _more_ than him now. He wouldn’t be able to make a dent in them, and all that showed from his fit of rage was a slight smudge of rubber on one metal surface.  
  
Slowly lowering his hands, Dean blinked harshly to clear his eyes, glad no one was close enough to see. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. “Yeah…” he croaked, clearing his throat so he could talk. “Yeah. Sam can…”  
  
He lost his voice again as the noises from the scientist and Bowman began to filter through the pent-up frustration that had built up in him. Dean swallowed. One of his few friends needed help _now._  
  
The only reassurance was the scientist couldn’t kill Bowman or risk his precious _Prime_ specimen if he wanted the tests to continue.  
  
“Sam knows everything I know,” Dean said, this time his voice firm and clear as he dragged himself out of his wallowing. “If anyone can figure this out, it’s him.” _That scientist will regret underestimating Sam._  
  
Rischa nodded emphatically. "That's right. Sam will figure things out," she said gently. She refrained from mentioning Jacob for the time being. Ally or not, Dean was hurting badly right now because of a giant human. Rather than draw attention to his sore chest by talking about another person who could do that much damage with ease, she kept the topic on Sam, Dean's anchor.  
  
Back when she first met the brothers, Dean's mind had been clouded over by his fight with the lich's magic. When that fog cleared, Dean's relief that _Sam_ was there had crashed over Rischa like a tide.  
  
Over at the workbench, the scientist retrieved a tall device from a shelf, and it distracted Rischa for a moment. The thing was made of metal and glass, and made a _thunk_ that resounded around the room when the human set it next to Bowman, so close that he had to draw his sore wing away from it to avoid being caught underneath.  
  
Rischa winced and looked away. It was hard to watch someone who prized his wings as much as Bowman did have them manipulated so much.  
  
"We just have to keep up our strength as much as we can while we wait for Sam to find us," she said, her voice thready and quiet. She was still a kid as much as the others, and the cage surrounding them frightened her, too. "You'll have to have something to eat later."  
  
Dean growled, his eyes sliding to where Bowman and the scientist were. The last thing on his mind was food. If he thought it would do any good, he’d toss it all out right now.  
  
But he needed to keep up his strength as much as anyone else. Whatever spell had taken away his size might wear off at any time, and if he returned to normal, he needed to be ready to _move_.  
  
Thoughts of Sam and the permanence of the witch’s curse threatened to infringe on Dean’s thoughts, but he pushed them away.  
  
 _Nothing lasts forever, not even Sam’s curse_.  
  
Celeste had even been so kind as to confirm that for them, taunting that only she had the ability to take it away and return Sam to normal. One way or the other, Dean was going to wring it out of her scrawny neck.  
  
The cage didn’t scare Dean so much as the thought of the giant and the heights beyond its edge. His only emotion the bars sparked was rage. Pure, unfiltered rage.  
  
Hauling himself to his feet, Dean stalked to the edge, prowling back and forth as he longed to wrap his hands around that throat and squeeze the life out of the warlock. Make him pay for tormenting _children._  
  


* * *

  
Bowman craned his neck to the side to eye the huge, heavy thing the human had set next to him. While the massive, unrelenting hands worked at dials on the thing, Bowman's wings lay quivering on his back, haphazardly splayed around. Every inch of them was sore, and his back protested as well. Their range of motion had been tested and then some with the human's harsh manipulation.  
  
The thick base of the thing had a delicate set of clamps underneath what looked like a glass eye, like a telescope. Bowman hoped his wings wouldn't be fixed in those clamps, whatever the whole thing was for.  
  
"Observing the adult's wing with microscope," the human announced. That clinical voice had lost any sign of taunting Bowman. He was only focused on his science. Bowman wasn't comforted.  
  
Bowman's struggles were weak when the hand came for his wing again. It was dragged open, draped over the base of the device without the clamps closing over them. Instead, two strong fingers pinned the wing down so that it was as flat against the base as possible. Bowman grimaced again as the cold, sharper edges of the thing dug into the finger bones of his wing.  
  
In another display of baffling human behavior, the man leaned forward, squinted one eye shut, and brought the other close to the tall, narrow top of the device. A dial on the side moved part of the machine closer to Bowman's wing, and he realized what the whole, complicated (and stupid-looking) device was for.  
  
"If you wanted to look at my wings, I have no problem showing off, ask anybody," he jeered, though his voice was tired and hoarse. There wasn't a nerve in his sensitive wings that wasn't at least stinging.  
  
"Patterning consistent with deciduous leaves, but unlike any genus I've encountered," the human said aloud, ignoring Bowman like an expert. He tugged the wing to the side to take a look at a different portion of it, and Bowman released another groan of pain.  
  
The scientist stared intently at the back of Bowman's wing for several long minutes. When it was released from the microscope, he felt the barest flicker of hope for a reprieve. The magnetic straps were released and he was gathered up in a hand ...  
  
Only to be flipped over and the whole process repeated with the front of his wing instead. More than once, a knuckle on one of the finger bones was nearly bent backwards by the human's handling. Bowman's whole body would twitch with pain.  
  
Just when he thought he might give in and beg for mercy, the human lifted him from the table at last. One wing was held open, verdant and thriving and _shaking_ with pain, for one last observation.  
  
Satisfied, the human returned Bowman to his cage. The recording device was snatched from the table, and a dismissive wave of his hand set Dean's cage swinging again before he left to compile whatever notes he'd taken from the taxing session.  
  
The door closed at last and Bowman, lying in a heap in his cage, heaved a sigh. "Blasted m-mountain of wolf droppings, that one," he said, gingerly pushing himself up to a seat. "Could be happy just talking to himself without pestering me, but no, I get th-the weirdest looking glass anyone's ever seen."  
  
Dean had an arm slung around the bars, keeping himself in place while the cage lazily swung from side to side and he avoided looking down to keep the nausea away. “It’s…” He cleared his throat, dragging a hand down his eyes. “It’s a _microscope,_ ” Dean explained, enunciating the syllables. “Like… a magnifying glass on crack. Lets him see things that are too small to make out with the naked eye.”  
  
Holding up a hand, Dean intently stared at his skin. “Even too small for _us_ to see,” he said, trying to remember if Sam had ever mentioned anything like that. He didn’t know what his little brother saw each time he stood in Dean’s hand, but the chance of it being individual cells was slim to none.  
  
Bowman glanced over his shoulder thoughtfully. His wings lay on the cage floor, sore and quivering. The scientist had gotten a closer look at them than any wood sprite had gotten before. Any curiosity washed away as Bowman noted the forlorn state of the all-important limbs.  
  
"Never thought I'd say I prefer the _other_ scientist I met," he said ruefully. With a wince, Bowman crawled to the food dish in his cage to see what options he had for regaining some of his energy. He scoffed at the slivers of meat next to the cuts of fruit. "Science-humans are blasted infuriating."  
  
Dean had to agree with him. “This one’s a first-rate douchebag.”  
  
With Bowman moving and conscious, Dean let himself scoot over to the food dish, scowling at the choices inside. Dry jerky, slices of fruit… enough to fill them with nutrients so the scientist wouldn’t lose his precious specimens, and to keep Dean alive to torment him.  
  
Picking at the jerky, Dean growled. “Would it kill him to order us a pizza?” he asked plaintively as he bit into the dry meat, immediately having to wash out his mouth from the sharp salty tang.   
  
Bowman scoffed. He avoided the meat in his own food dish, nudging it to the side the best he could without touching it too much. There was an unfamiliar greasy sheen on it, and the sight nearly turned his stomach. He snagged part of what looked like a berry and scooted himself to the corner of the cage that put him closest to the others.  
  
"Bowman, nothing's broken, right?" Rischa called from her own cage, ever mindful of the pain she could feel radiating from the others. "Maybe I should Pray again ..."  
  
Bowman shook his head. "No, Birdie," he said hastily. "Save your energy for now. I'll double check, but I don't think he broke anything, thank the Spirit." His eyes strayed to Dean, wondering if _he_ needed any healing.  
  
“You need to conserve your strength,” Dean agreed with Bowman. “There’s no telling what’s going to happen next, and if this escape attempt _works,_ we need everyone ready to move.”  
  
To suit action to words, he set aside the jerky, his teeth begging for a break, and mentally sighed when the next food he picked up was a dried slice of banana. Next to it was a raisin. _Beggars can’t be choosers…_  
  
With all the dry food, and one grape with a slight bit of moisture to it, Dean was glad the water dish was practically his size. He was going to need all the water he could get.  
  
"Okay," Rischa replied, though her voice was subdued and almost watery. She took a slow breath. "I'll wait 'til later."  
  
Bowman nibbled at the food he'd chosen, glad the scientist hadn't given him _all_ meat as some kind of punishment for not wanting to eat it. He didn't have the heart to point out to Dean that he might not be able to make an escape attempt right away. His wings might not be broken, but they were hurting.  
  
Finishing off the food he'd selected, Bowman then begrudgingly dragged a wing onto his lap. With careful but practiced motions, he preened it to check for any lasting damage, running his hands over the delicate bones within. While he did so, he glanced over to Dean, the proud hunter. Reduced to a size that simply didn't suit him, in Bowman's eyes.  
  
He sought a distraction. "Y'know, Dean, I think you're the first giant I ever met that didn't try to mess with my wings right away. Not that I'm complaining, but ... why is that? Seems like everyone gets curious."  
  
Dean looked over, saw the state Bowman’s wings were in, then looked away, his eyes hooded. He could remember that first meeting clear as day. Just like the first moments with Sam, it stuck with him as time passed. “You’re, ah…” He cleared his throat. “Believe it or not, I’ve run into sprites before. They weren’t from around here… Came all the way from some other realm called _Aeternum,_ according to our water sprite friend, Nixie. Let’s just say I got more than enough to look at when those fire sprites tried to fry my bacon.”   
  
He shrugged. The curiosity was always there, displayed in his first moments with Sam. Examining that tiny arm and tiny hand, fascinated to see how the fingers recoiled at his touch, perfectly formed and moving naturally, but so small they were hard to make out. Dean held up his hand, knowing _he_ was now that same size.   
  
_Karma._  
  
“Plus, I’ve spent enough time around Sam’s people. They don’t appreciate people poking and prodding at them, especially strangers. Unless there’s a reason for it, I just… don’t.”  
  
Bowman nodded. Something came back to him from those stressful first hours stuck with the Winchesters. Sam had mentioned other sprites back then, after Bowman had opened up enough to ask the questions on his mind. Sam had tried his best to be understanding, and Bowman had tried to take off running in the vents anyway.  
  
"Probably a good rule. Good way to avoid earning another bop on the head," he noted. He realized with a sinking heart that Dean had gotten a good look at _why_ sprite-sized folk were wary about giant hands. They were much too big, much too likely to damage them.  
  
If the scientist had applied just a little more pressure, he could have broken Dean's ribs or snapped one of the bones in Bowman's wings.  
  
"Well. If you ever need to help check a wood sprite's wings for some reason, this is how you'd feel it out," Bowman added, nodding at the wing he held in his lap. "Kinda hard to tell if a finger's broken just by looking."  
  
Dean watched steadily, his inner conflict only briefly displayed with a shudder up his back. Remembering how small and fragile those wings were in his hand when he’d caught Bowman a year back.  
  
“If we get out, I wouldn’t mind learning more,” Dean said honestly. “Y’know… If I’m this size still.” He twined his fingers together, inwardly repulsed by the thought of his hands near Bowman if he was normal-sized. Or Sam, or Vel, or any of the people he knew. How could they trust him like they did? All it took was a second, and his chest was covered with bruises. Bowman was lucky his wings weren’t worse, but the droop in them and the care he gave them showed just how bad off they were.  
  
Another shudder, and Dean slumped back. “It’s hard enough telling if any of Sam’s bones are broken when I’m normal,” he said listlessly.  
  
Bowman continued to preen his wing, tenderness and care in each motion, but he frowned to himself. He understood where Dean's worry came from. Jacob had mentioned the same exact fear to Bowman before. With a human he didn't trust, Bowman would never suggest they even _try_ looking for broken bones.  
  
His list of trustworthy humans was abysmally short, but Jacob and Dean were both on it without question. "Sam trusts you, though," he pointed out. "And you're careful anyway. That's already better than _most_ humans can say."  
  
“Right,” Dean muttered, not believing in himself the way Sam and Bowman seemed to. How had he earned trust like that in the first place? He could remember how _resistant_ Sam was to having Dean check him for injuries when his arm was broken; but somehow Dean had won out.  
  
Now, he wasn’t sure if he’d trust _himself_ with that.  
  
“Any breaks?” Dean asked with concern, distracting himself from the dark thoughts creeping up on him. He couldn’t see the finger bones of Bowman’s wings well from where his cage hung, just the slumped posture of his sprite friend.  
  
Bowman shook his head ruefully. "No breaks," he confirmed. He hadn't finished checking both wings, but by now everything had dulled to an ache, with no lingering sharp pains that would mean he'd broken something. He'd still fly, if only he had the chance to.  
  
There was a collective sigh of relief from the younger wood sprites in their cage. Any one of them knew how much Bowman prized his wings, and how much of his strength depended on flight. He was unmatched in skill in the village, and losing the ability to fly would hurt him deeper than anyone would see.  
  
Vel had his hands on the bars of the cage, his face pressed between the space as much as he could so he could look out at the others. "Sometimes the human doesn't come back for a long time," he said, tired hopefulness in his voice. "Maybe he's gonna leave us all alone for a while."  
  
"Maybe," Rischa agreed. "Just make sure you have more food and water. Just ... just in case."  
  
“As much as you can,” Dean reinforced, taking up more of his own food for example. Past wrinkling his nose at the raisin, he didn't hesitate as he bit into it, finding the flavor pleasantly familiar when he managed to bite through the thick, dried skin.  
  
While he ate, occasionally washing down the fruit and dried jerky with the stale cage water, Dean eyed up the lock on his cage. “Sure wish I had Sam’s satchel,” he mused, remembering how quick Sam was with a lock. “That kid might not be as tall as me, but he’s prepared for _anything._ ”  
  
Bowman picked out some dried fruit of his own, letting his wings relax. While he nibbled at it, he thought about the bag that Sam was never seen without. Bowman had seen the hook and string that Sam kept in there, but other than that he didn't know much about what the smaller human carried around.  
  
"I guess living in the walls would teach you a lot about being prepared," he commented. It was so different from the way the wood sprites lived, in their simple village hidden away from humans. There wasn't as much to be prepared _for._  
  
"Sam could be a _knight,_ " Vel chimed in proudly. The young nestling fidgeted and his own wings perked up only slightly before falling slack again. The cheerful flutters from his first meeting with Dean were absent. "Does Sam have a sword? He _should._ "  
  
Despite everything else, Dean found himself smiling at Vel’s innocent excitement. The sight of those weak wings made his heart flutter like Vel’s wings once had, but the thought of Sam as a knight, in full body armor, was enough to keep him from falling back into despair.  
  
“He doesn’t have a sword,” Dean said, indulging Vel. “He’s got a knife though. Made out of silver, just like mine.” He took out his knife, reflecting the light back at the little sprite.  
  
Vel's eyes were wide with wonder. No thought entered his mind about that knife being much bigger than him normally. In fact, though he was inwardly worried about Dean being smaller, his admiration of the human hadn't been dampened by the change. He was still the guy who protected the village and fought _wolves,_ the one Vel had decided to adopt as a big brother.  
  
He blinked as the glare from the light passed over his face, and then he waved a hand in front of his face. "That knife looks sharp. When my dad was a knight, he had a sword. I wasn't allowed to touch it."  
  
"Maybe you'll get to be a knight yourself one day, Vel," Rischa said, ruffling the kid's hair. For once, there was a thrum of calm in the air, though she knew it couldn't last.   
  
With the conversation slipping away from him, Dean let himself relax against the side of the cage with an exhausted huff. Out of sight of everyone, he surreptitiously rubbed at his chest and the dull ache of pain from the scientist’s casual blows that grew a little more powerful each time.  
  
If the flicks got much stronger, they might break one of Dean’s bones without meaning to.  
  
Vel fidgeted away from the bars of the cage to sit closer to the other nestlings again. His optimism, a flickering light in a dark mood, had an effect on all of them. Despite being the first victim and definitely the smallest prisoner among them, he could still smile.  
  
Bowman was glad the young sprites all had someone to cling to. They could huddle together and wait out the fear while he and Dean made sure the scientist focused on them.  
  
The calm moment shattered as footsteps abruptly approached again. Bowman flinched and lurched to his feet, ready to sling more snark and fight in the human's grasp.  
  
He wasn't prepared for the man to open the door swiftly and not even look at any of the cages right away. He had several sheets of paper in one hand, and he looked over them critically. Thin lips moved soundlessly as he read whatever he had there, and there was an awkward silence that dragged out for several seconds before Bowman decided to break it.  
  
"Well? What do you want now, you heap of rot?"  
  
The human glanced up at him coolly, and then his eyes wandered over to the other cage. Within, the nestlings crowded together, quickly losing the small flicker of hope they'd built up.  
  
"I have some tests to run on the other subjects," the human announced.  
  
Dean was on his feet in a flash, any sign of discomfort gone from his face. “Well then,” he goaded, kicking a fallen piece of fruit so it bounced out of the cage and plummeted to the far away ground below, “I guess I’m your man. You need another subject, I’m there.”  
  
The strain in Dean’s voice was the only part of him that showed any trepidation. This man was threatening _children,_ and Dean would do anything he could to protect them. Even throw himself at the scientist.  
  
“Well, whaddya say, you sonovabitch? You and me, one on one.” Dean put both his hands on the bars, glaring out of the cage.  
  
The scientist barely smirked. "Perhaps later, little hunter," he answered derisively. "I'll want to run comparisons with that so-called _brother_ of yours. For now, you have nothing to give me."  
  
With that dismissive threat hanging in the air, he focused on the nestlings. They whimpered and some burst into frightened tears. The key to the little cage lifted up in his grasp.  
  
A sharp _clang_ sounded through the room. Bowman's wings were open wide, and he smacked them against the bars of his cage a second time when he saw the scientist flinch. "Leave them _alone!_ ” he demanded. "You made Dean pick me earlier, so you can run your stupid tests on _me._ The nestlings don't need to be bothered."  
  
The scientist considered it, and then waved a hand over his shoulder. A wave of force hit both Bowman and Dean's cages. It set Dean harshly swinging yet again, while it clipped Bowman's cage to make it twist on its hanging chain. The man was still going easier on Bowman than Dean.  
  
No matter the protests shouted at him, the scientist opened up the cage with another cold smirk. "Subject one, it's been some time," he taunted.  
  
Vel recognized the name. He cried out in terror, and though he tried to squirm away from the hand that forced its way through the door towards him, it cornered him behind powerful fingers. A thumb and finger bigger and more powerful than the malnourished child pinched around the front of his shirt. Vel dug his heels in, but the hand easily dragged him to the door and out into the open.  
  
“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Dean thundered.  
  
At least, his voice sounded thunderous to _him._ In reality, his voice was as light as any sprites, a breath that the wind alone could snatch away on a moment’s notice. Dean could shout all he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that he was trapped, unable to help his friends and too small to escape the cage.  
  
Dean punched the side of the cage, making it swing harder. One thing this case might be good for was getting over his fear of heights; at the moment all that mattered to him was getting Vel freed.  
  
All he managed to do was attract a look of contempt from the scientist. Raising two fingers into the air, the man twirled a symbol in empty space, then jabbed it straight at Dean.  
  
A force shoved against Dean, and this time it didn’t just flick him against the side of the cage. It pinned him, and all he managed was a grunt from the pressure that kept him held in place, stuck like a bug on flypaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the sprites are bonding as well, it's just not going as well considering the rude interruptions from this scientist guy 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** September 6th, 2020 at 9pm.


	28. The Point of Desperation

Satisfied that the message was received, the scientist returned his focus to the squirming sprite dangling from his fingers. More swears from Bowman went ignored, the same as Dean's struggles to free himself from his _time out._ Vel sobbed and tried to cling to the fingers, afraid of falling.  
  
Nothing motivated like power. The scientist set the young sprite on his palm and carried him to the table, while the other nestlings clung to the bars of their cage to watch after their friend.  
  
"I-I-I don't wanna," Vel cried, his voice hiccupping and weak as it forced past his sobs.   
  
"Then behave and it will be done quickly," the human sneered, no sympathy for the child curled up on his palm. He sat in front of the microscope once more. He tilted his hand so that Vel rolled to his fingertips with a broken yelp of fear. The boy landed on his front and a thumb landed over his back to hold back his weak struggles, and the other hand forced open a tiny wing.  
  
Vel was so small that he couldn't be pinned to the workbench and hope for his wings to reach the bulky microscope, so the wing was forced under the viewpiece while he was still trapped in the human's pinch grip. The sobbing continued, but much quieter.  
  
"Blast it, leave him alone!" Bowman yelled, his voice hoarse with rage and exhaustion. If there was one thing Bowman hated more than being handled like that, it was seeing it happen to someone else. Especially a child.  
  
"You'll have your turn again soon enough," the human shot back, not even looking away from the microscope as he observed Vel's tiny wing. "Everything has a time and a place, and you should learn yours or I'll have to teach you like I’m teaching my little hunter."  
  


* * *

  
Dean barely heard what everyone was saying, too trapped in his own mind to see past what was happening.  
  
Trapped.  
  
Stuck like a bug against the wall, the bars of the cage dug into his back. The pressure from the scientist’s telekinetic shove wasn’t enough to crack ribs, but it made breathing hard. Over and over, Dean could see his past flash before his eyes.  
  
Trapped.  
  
Watching the witch raise her hands in the motel room. Sam, overwhelmed with a brilliance that was too bright to see, and then nothing. Gone. All while Dean was helpless to save him, screaming his head off, trying to writhe free and just _attack, goddammit._  
  
Trapped.  
  
Celeste taunting Dean while dangling the fate of Sam’s family in front of him. Sam, who’d only just found his older brother, lost the people who’d raised him. It would be a year before he discovered Walt had survived that day, leaving Sam convinced he’d abandoned his older brother for nothing.  
  
Trapped.  
  
Pinned to a wall with Sam stuck in a cage. Watching the witch stroll around the room, attacking his friends, catapulting Rufus into another room. Dean was only released when she hit him with another spell, one that took his size compared to Sam and turned it on its head, making him expand until he was too large to interact, where the very act of _breathing_ could become dangerous for the smaller man.  
  
Every single moment in Dean’s life where things had gone wrong he’d spent haplessly pinned to a wall, unable to _stop_ any of it.  
  
With a scowl, Dean tried to pry his arm free. It made it a hair away from the bars, then slammed back, making him groan in pain. “Sonova _bitch!_ ” he snapped at the open air.  
  
The pain was enough to bring him back to his surroundings, and Dean’s scowl deepened when he saw Vel in danger with those massive hands. “Leave ‘im alone!” he shouted, trying again to escape the pin to no avail. His chest shook heavily as he tried to suck in a breath to keep shouting. “The only person who’s going to learn any lessons around here is _you!_ ”  
  
The scientist chuckled at Dean's strained protests. "Oh, I'm learning quite a lot. Thanks to you bringing me a new specimen to compare to these little ones." His smirk was hidden from the others in the cage, but Vel could see it in the corner of his eye. He wriggled uncomfortably, but couldn't stop the human from resolutely examining his wing.  
  
"It's as I suspected," the human muttered as his academic train of thought started up once again.  
  
He didn't release Vel just yet. He flipped his hapless captive over without a care for the frightened, pained yelp it drew out of Vel's tiny lungs. The underside of a wing was bared for the microscope this time.  
  
"Leave his wings alone, can't you see you've done enough damage?" Bowman blurted, fluttering his own sore wings against the bars of his cage. No matter how much noise he made against the metal, he didn't see a single flinch in the human's shoulders. The man simply didn't _care._ "Please just leave the nestlings alone!"  
  
The scientist sighed, but finished up his last observations of Vel's wing. He let go of the tiny appendage, only to curl his fingers and flip the small boy onto his palm once again. Vel landed with a quiet _oof_ and then disappeared in a closed fist. No one would be able to tell he was there if not for his frightened, muffled crying.  
  
"Such a fuss," the human said. He spared Bowman one derisive glance before standing and returning to the nestlings' cage. "Subject One behaves much better, don't you?"  
  
Vel dropped harshly from the man's fist to the floor of his cage. After the landing, his little hands immediately covered his face while the cage door closed and locked them all in once more. Even though he was allowed to cry now, Vel's sobs were quiet. Fear caught his voice in his heaving chest.  
  
"Still hanging around?" the human noted when he turned and saw Dean still pinned. "Are you ready to behave?"  
  
“Oh, I’ll behave alright.” Despite the pressure pinning him to the bars, Dean managed to keep his voice steady and confident, as cocky as he usually was. He twirled a hand in a circle, unable to move the arm to complete the vaguely obscene gesture. “You let those kids go now, and I’ll cooperate all you want.”  
  
Dean wasn’t looking at them, but he could hear Vel’s stifled cries, each one sending a shard of ice through his heart. He had to see past that, focus on the threat, but it was the hardest thing he’d done in his life. “How many monsters want a captive hunter like me? All you gotta do to get my _full_ cooperation is let them go. Whaddya say,” now Dean’s voice was shouting, “Just you an’ me, you sorry bastard! You ain’t worth the ground you walk on, you bag of dicks!”  
  
Bowman turned his head so quickly he almost hurt his neck, all to stare in shock at what Dean said. The human was trying to offer himself up, as some kind of _pet,_ just to save the sprites. He couldn't even imagine what that would be like.  
  
Dean, with all his pride in what he did, would be broken. No more hunting, only constant taunts from this giant bully of a human.  
  
Bowman clutched the bars of his cage and glared out. Most of the time, he had a quick retort for anything a human said, but this time nothing came. He wanted the sprites safe, but he didn't want Dean to pay that price for it. Though it burned to admit it, the power lay with their captor now.  
  
Who, it seemed, wasn't interested in taking Dean's offer. He smirked and condescension weighed down the air. "I'm a patient man, little hunter," he said. "I'll have both eventually. For now, I have more studies of these little things to compile."  
  
"We are not _things,_ and we are not _yours!_ " Bowman shouted as vehemently as he could. The human had already turned for the door. He had what he needed for now.  
  
They were sealed in the room yet again. The footsteps receded before the pressure against Dean finally melted away.  
  
Dean dropped like a stone the few inches between his boots and the cage floors. He allowed his body to roll with the hit, absorbing the impact so his knees didn’t take damage.  
  
Rolling onto his back, Dean stared listlessly up at the cage ceiling. If only the scientist would take his bait. All they needed was one break for Sam to track this man down, and freeing the sprites could have been that break. Who wouldn’t want a pet hunter of their own?  
  
“ _Dammit!_ ” Dean burst out, rolling to his knees and standing up. He aimed a kick at the food dish. “Just one break! Is that too much to ask?!”  
  
"He doesn't plan to make it easy for us," Bowman agreed darkly. He was glad to see Dean could at least stand after being pinned for so long. Bowman's tired, pained wings twitched in agreement. He was frustrated and wanted to rage around his prison just as much. He wished Dean was his normal giant self, a towering ally for the sprites. They needed it.  
  
In the third cage, Vel's crying finally tapered off. The boy was simply too exhausted to keep it up any longer, and his eyes ran dry. He sniffled and found himself cradled in Rischa's lap. He hadn't even noticed her coming to him while he came down from his terror.  
  
"I-I just wanna go home," he lamented. "I wan' us all to go _home_ , I don't like it when he picks us up."  
  
"I know," Rischa cooed in a gentle voice. The rage and frustration from Dean and Bowman both prickled at the edge of her awareness, but she focused on the younger child for now. He'd been trapped the longest, and it was amazing that he'd still smiled earlier. "We'll figure it out. You're doing so good, you're so strong."  
  
“We’ll get out of here, Vel,” Dean called from his cage, his voice solid but his confidence shaken. He wrapped an arm around his middle and leaned against the bars. Nothing was broken, but his ribs were sore from being pinned… and flicked… and bouncing off the walls of the cage.   
  
“Sam’s still out there, and he’s pulled me out of more trouble than I can remember anymore.”  
  
Dean let himself slump, the tension built up in his shoulders. Had it only been a day? Less? It might as well be an eternity stuck hanging in the dim, dingy basement. Something out of a mad scientist’s dream. Which, he supposed, it was. Some scientist stumbles across an arcane tome, decides to check it out and discovers that magic isn’t as fake as people make it out to be. Teleportation, telekinesis, all kinds of abilities that should be impossible became possible, and all you had to do was deal with a devil.  
  
The powers that Sam’s people seemed to have, whether cursed themselves or descendents of the curse, didn’t have any attachment to demons. Past the nosebleeds and exhaustion, Walt had shown no other side effects when his ability manifested. Sam had used his for _years_ without having it turn on him.  
  
Hopefully this scientist never discovered _that_ little tidbit either.  
  
“Can you pick the lock?” Dean called, holding tight to the bars with his free hand. He turned to look at Bowman. “I’m starting to think I might want to try breaking out of my cage and seeing if I can climb _up_ it.” The heights were mattering less and less than escaping from the monster that had them caged.  
  
Bowman glanced up at the thin chain that attached Dean's cage to the ceiling. Higher than they already were, it'd be a precarious spot. Bowman didn't want to leave the hunter to get himself trapped up there if he could help it. The retaliation from the scientist might actually break Dean's bones.  
  
"I'll give it another try," he determined, seeking out the knife hidden by his water dish. His wings were sore, and shifted uncomfortably against his back, but he ignored it. If he got a chance to fly, he would.  
  
Little Vel's sobs, tapering off into hiccups, galvanized him. The child had been handled like little more than a toy in that human's hands for _weeks_.  
  
There'd be no convincing the man themselves. They either needed to wait around for rescue or try to secure it for themselves. Bowman climbed the door of his cage with the knife in hand to give it another try. If he could just figure this blasted lock out, he could get the others out and ...  
  
And they'd figure things out after that. They had to.  
  
"After all this is over, you're gonna teach me how to do this properly," he groused, fumbling at the lock once more. "And I'll teach you about wings. Deal?"  
  
“Deal,” Dean agreed. “Maybe I can even get you some proper tools from Sam when we start.”  
  
He stalked around the perimeter of the cage, halting at the door. Standing wider than he was tall, once he popped the lock, there’d be no trouble getting out.  
  
Too bad they were so high up. He’d have his own lock open in no time flat at this size.  
  
Instead of waiting, Dean grasped the bars and put a boot on the side of the cage. It swayed slightly in place, but as long as he kept his motion restrained, it wasn’t bad. Nowhere near what happened when the scientist backhanded it.  
  
Climbing carefully up, Dean perched near the lock. “Once you pop yours, go get the kids and I’ll take care of mine,” he called to Bowman. “The faster we do it all together, the more likely we are to all get out of this.”  
  
Bowman nodded distractedly. He was already biting his lip in concentration as he re-learned the feel of the lock. He could only see it from behind, but he recognized the strange feeling of the blade in his hand slipping past the inner mechanisms. He didn't understand the complex workings, but Bowman was smart. With Dean's advice from before in mind, he felt out the tumblers in the lock.  
  
If he could do the task from behind the lock, figuring it out on the other cage would be easy. Then they could fly out.  
  
Rischa's wings weren't as big as Bowman's, but they were more or less fully developed. She could carry one of the smaller nestlings, two depending on how far they all needed to go. Bowman could carry the other two. All they needed was to get to a hiding place, somewhere the scientist couldn't reach them. Then Bowman could glide Dean to the ground as well.  
  
Dean would know how to contact Sam. They could make it if he just figured out his lock first.  
  
He kept expecting footsteps to interrupt, but they didn't come. The human was engrossed in whatever data he'd compiled from examining Bowman and Vel's wings. It would hopefully hold his attention long enough.  
  
Bowman grumbled out a string of sprite curses that earned a few weary giggles from the other cage. Then, when he thought he might strain the knife and break it, something clicked in the lock. Bowman felt the shudder in his arms and stared at it in shock.  
  
"I ... I got it," he breathed, shakily tucking the knife into the scarf tied around his waist. All that was left was the latch, no longer locked up. He climbed across to it, and his body was already quivering with adrenaline, ready to get to work.  
  
The latch was stiff against his willowy strength, but Bowman managed it with a grunt of effort. His hand slipped past it and bruised against a metal bar, but he didn't care.  
  
The cage door swung open while he clung to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything Dean is is slowly being chipped away by not being able to help
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** September 9th, 2020 at 9pm.


	29. Falling With Style

The darkness beneath the seats felt familiar, a welcome sensation that filled Sam with confidence. He _did_ know what he was doing. He just had to trust the lessons he’d learned from Dean when it came to dealing with the human world, and be grateful he had someone like Jacob around to help. They were better off with Bobby on the research frontier. No one knew how to find obscure references like he did.  
  
Pushing open the door of his panic room, Sam blinked in the dim interior. Very little light made it this far under the seat, and the thin slits Dean cut in the sides for air let through even less. It was only because Sam’s eyes were so acclimated to darkness that he could see at all, and he blinked a few times to help his focus.  
  
The small room had several emergency supplies, decided upon by both brothers back when it was first created. First and most importantly was food and drink. If Sam needed to hole up inside for any length of time, he had water and granola. Dean regularly switched it out, keeping enough there to hold Sam over. A bundled up handkerchief made a good bed, and the crumpled pile of dollar bills stashed away made up their emergency funds.  
  
Sam nudged at the pile, checking its weight before deciding he’d be able to move it fine. The scent of money was sharp around the leathery bills, such a different feel compared to normal paper.  
  
He paged through a few, checking the amounts and remembering what Dean had sternly taught him. Sam had no use for the money himself; he was able to survive off what he found, but Dean had refused to take no for an answer.  
  
 _It’s what I'm good for, right? Teachin’ my little brother the ropes?_  
  
Sam pushed that thought away. _He’s_ not _gone forever,_ he told himself insistently.  
  
Pulling out one of the hundreds, Sam left that draped atop the handkerchief. A ‘just in case’ stash to keep to the side. The rest, he tried to wrap his arms around, finding it unwieldy and awkward. In the end he just shoved it out of the room, wishing it was easier to move about.  
  
It took Sam a minute more to shove the wad of bills out from under the seat, giving Jacob’s boots a wide berth of a foot in case the teenager shifted. Straightening, Sam wiped his brow. The interior of the car was uncomfortably warm in the daytime air, and sweat beaded at his forehead.  
  
Stepping back, Sam waved for Jacob’s attention. “I think this should cover it!”  
  


* * *

  
Dean hissed in triumph when he saw Bowman in the clear. Tightening his grip on the cage with one arm, muscles clenched tight to hold himself in place, he shifted one of his boots so it was in reach.  
  
The knife hidden away was much thinner than his silver blade, but that was for the best. This would do to give him reach for the tumblers in the lock, as Bowman’s escape proved.  
  
Always be prepared; Dean’s motto.  
  
“Get the kids!” Dean called, starting to work on his own lock. It might be strange to do at his current size, but he had plenty of experience breaking in and out of places. His skill showed as the tumblers were quickly shifted into the right positions with precision. In fact, being small helped him to hear when they clicked into place. Normally he had to stifle his breathing to be able to make out the tiny click.  
  
Bowman waited for the door to swing wide, and then released his hold on the cage door. One twist in the air later, his wings snapped open and he caught himself, banking over to the cage with the nestlings in it. They cheered for him and he grinned, but held a finger to his lips.  
  
His wings, already sore, buffeted against the side of their cage as he got a clumsy grasp on the bars. "Don't raise a ruckus just yet," he warned them. "Rischa, do you think you can carry the littlest ones?"  
  
Rischa nodded. She already had Vel in her lap, and the other young nestling clung to her tunic. "I can go a little ways, I think."  
  
Bowman nodded and hoisted himself over to the lock. "I'll carry the others. We're going to find a place to hide, and then see if I can get Dean to a phone thing, maybe. He can get Sam for us, and Jacob will come."  
  
"You're gonna carry Dean and us?" one of the nestlings asked, worry in her watery eyes.  
  
Bowman smirked while he poked his knife into the lock. "Not at the same time," he assured her. "I'll get you to safety first. Then I'll lug our human around."  
  
While they talked, Dean felt the last tumbler fall into place and the lock opened. He shifted it so it fell into his arms, then jumped from the side of the cage back into the center so he could put it quietly down instead of have it fall and possibly alert the scientist to their plans. His slim knife was replaced in his boot; if he needed to fight, he was going to use his stronger blade or his colt.  
  
“Ready?” Dean called, pushing his door open.  
  
"Almost," Bowman muttered. He made quicker progress on the second lock, now that he could actually _see_ what he was doing. If things weren't so dire, he'd be intrigued with the sight of the lock's inner workings shifting around.  
  
There was a click as it came undone at last, and he couldn't help a breathy, triumphant laugh.  
  
The nestlings all stood, their eyes wide and their wings lifting with hope. Bowman stowed his borrowed knife again and wrenched the latch of the door open. Nothing felt better than removing the obstacle that was keeping a bunch of _children_ trapped against their will.  
  
He fluttered awkwardly as the door swung open, and nearly had trouble landing on the open ledge. Once he was there, the nestlings swarmed closer to him and he ruffled their hair and squeezed their frail little hands.  
  
"Alright, we're going to find a place to hide," he announced, taking his eyes off their joyous faces. The room didn't have much to offer, but his eyes inevitably fell on the scientist's workbench. There was space underneath it for them to duck out of sight, but that would be hard for a human to reach a hand underneath. Even one with hands as spindly as their captor.  
  
Bowman found the two smallest of the nestlings and nodded to Rischa. "You two go with Rischa, okay? She will fly you down to the floor." He addressed the last two children, including the little wraith sprite with quills instead of leafy wings. "You'll go with me."  
  
There was some shuffling around as the sprites crowded near their designated flyers. Rischa's arms wrapped tightly around the two she was to carry, and they clung right back.  
  
Bowman nodded, satisfied that she'd be able to hold on at least to flutter to the ground safely. He took the other two kids in his own arms. "We'll head down first. Rischa, follow when I'm close in case I need to catch ya."  
  
And then, with relief like a breath of fresh air after a rain, he stepped out of the cage again.  
  
His wings snapped open skillfully, despite the pain throbbing in his joints. He could do this for them, without even a shade of complaint on his face. Bowman concentrated on the extra weight, and the kids burying their faces in his chest as he fluttered away from the prison they were stuck in.  
  
The landing wasn’t as graceful as he would have liked. His knee, weak from an old injury, buckled under the extra momentum and he nearly toppled. The knee hit the ground hard, but Bowman only let out a quiet grunt of pain as he let go of his young passengers. He directed them to scurry under the workbench, a tall stack of drawers providing cover over their heads.  
  
Looking back, Rischa's downward flight lurched more than Bowman's had. Her wings weren't as practiced. He was tensed and ready to dart up and take the burden from her, but she made it too.  
  
"Bowman," she said, relief on her face. The hope from the nestlings would be flooding through her senses right now. Bowman put his hands on the sides of her face and grinned.  
  
They were going to _make it._ Somehow.  
  
They just needed one more person with them. While Rischa and the little ones dove into hiding, Bowman darted back into the air. Barely seconds later, he was hovering outside the door of Dean's cage. He sized up the miniaturized human thoughtfully.  
  
"I think it might be best if I act as your very own wings," he suggested. He remembered Dean's trepidation about the heights earlier. They couldn't afford to surprise the human here. Too much struggling could send them both plummeting. "That way we can both hang on and it won't affect balance too much."  
  
“Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean shot back, completely blank on the entire concept of ‘flying.’ “Whatever you say, goes, because you’re the expert when it comes to being in the air.”  
  
To put action to words, Dean stepped up to the edge, doing his best to not peer off the side. ‘Don’t look down’ was a hell of a lot easier when he wasn’t suspended midair, that was for sure. He had no idea how Sam _managed_ , sitting almost this high up in the air on a daily basis just because he wanted to perch on a shoulder.  
  
Dean swallowed and held up his arms. “Just watch the ribs,” he said, a little quieter as he let on to how injured he really was.  
  
Bowman's determined look softened and he nodded. "You're looking at the best there is, it'll be quick."  
  
He had to direct Dean to turn before he could approach. Bowman discovered quickly that, while he was just a bit taller than Dean, he was far thinner. Looping his arms under Dean's, he almost couldn't reach to grip his own wrist in front of Dean's chest.  
  
Knowing that too much warning would probably make Dean tense up and even resist their exit, Bowman didn't give him one. "Alright, here--" he said, before stepping back and pulling the human with him.  
  
The weight was more than twice what Bowman usually carried in the air. He grimaced, glad Dean couldn't see his face as his wings sprang to life with rapid fluttering. They still lost height, but Bowman's well-trained wings came through.  
  
Angling towards the workbench was difficult. Bowman had to act like more of a parachute than a glider, but he never would have considered leaving anyone behind.  
  
Dean nearly yelped when the ground vanished from beneath his boots, replaced with the open air. In the position Bowman had him, there was nothing dividing him from the endless gap they dangled over. He couldn’t see Bowman’s arms wrapped around his middle, but he could feel the comforting pressure holding him in place against the lean sprite, and only just barely. Most of his mind was preoccupied with the _sheer heights_ they were flying over. “Holy--!”  
  
Flying. The one and only bane of Dean’s existence, and he’d agreed to it willingly. Even the airplane with the demon had been less stressful compared to _this_. There were four walls, a ceiling and a floor around Dean the entire time he’d worked to exorcise the man. It had been a very near thing, more than he’d ever admit to Sam, and more than once he wished his little brother had been with him that day.  
  
But no, Sam was at _Trails West,_ eking out a life day to day by snitching food and staying hidden. An existence Dean had yet to clumsily disrupt by snatching him from the ground in an unrelenting grip.  
  
Dean couldn’t do much more than seal his hands around Bowman’s wrists, clinging to his only support in the air. “I hope you know what you’re doing!” he said, the wind whistling around them trying to snatch his voice away. That, and the squeak from the fear.  
  
"Are you-" Bowman forced out around the strain, "-kidding?!"  
  
It was meant to sound confident. It came out forced, hissed through his clenched teeth as he slowly carried them towards the floor. His heart pounded and his wings protested, but Bowman couldn't let them drop.  
  
His arms quivered, and they were numb by the time he was halfway to the floor. Carrying a nestling, small figures with the same willowy frame, was much easier. Dean was _human,_ his bones were different and he had put on more muscle than most wood sprites could.  
  
Two feet above the floor. Bowman felt a strain in the middle of his back where his wings attached, sore from the scientist pulling at them earlier.  
  
One foot above the floor. His arms were locked in place but he couldn't even feel them. So close to the goal.  
  
Six inches above the floor. His fluttering faltered after the long flight downwards. Bowman sucked in a gasp and they lurched, until only two inches separated them from the hard ground.  
  
It was close enough. Bowman all but collapsed, along with his passenger. He rolled away from Dean to give him some space, while his wings sprawled out on the floor. They were only a few feet away from the workbench, and Bowman sighed heavily with relief. They'd made it.  
  
"Told you ... I'm the best," he wheezed.  
  
Dean’s feet hit the ground, and all he could think to do was tuck and roll, much like Bowman if he could have seen the sprite land behind him. It was only a few rolls before he finally came to a halt, staring vaguely up at the distant ceiling above them.  
  
“You did,” Dean wheezed, letting his arm fall back onto the floor as he blinked at the heights they’d traveled from.  
  
The room light might as well be a sun from Dean’s perspective. It was so high up he’d never reach it on his own. Their cages, doors open and abandoned, swung lightly on their own, bereft of captives. Stark shadows rose around the rest of the room, looming over them.  
  
Reorienting himself, Dean pushed himself to his feet, his knees nearly collapsing when he was standing. “We’ve gotta get everyone out of sight, _now._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's rich. Dean's flying.
> 
> Everything is just _fine._
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** September 13th, 2020 at 9pm.


	30. To the Walls

Jacob's ears zeroed in on the quiet voice calling up through the muggy air in the car. He leaned forward to look for Sam before making any other moves, glad to find the smaller man a safe distance from his shoes. After his mistake that morning, he was hyper-vigilant.  
  
Right after spotting Sam, his eyes flicked to the bundle of money next to him. It was big enough that Sam would have a hard time wrapping his arms around it, whether or not he could lift it. A willowy sprite like Bowman would have even more trouble. Even with Sam only standing at four inches tall, that amounted to a _lot_ of cash.  
  
 _Holy shit. Sam's loaded._  
  
"Uhm. Yeah, that'll probably get it," he sputtered.  
  
While he was leaned over, he reached under the console to pull back the panel and repeat his car thieving from the day before. It was probably better not to give Sam a hand up _before_ he started the car. If nothing else, the small hunter had a better view of the wires he needed to use.  
  
Once the Impala begrudgingly rumbled to life, Jacob offered Sam a hand. "Probably won't even put a dent in that," he joked, nodding towards the roll of faded green bills.  
  
“It’s okay if it does,” Sam assured Jacob, stepping up without delay.  
  
Gesturing towards the glove compartment, large enough to form a house-- or a _cage_ for Sam-- he went on, “Dean has a container of fake IDs and credit cards in there you should grab before we get to Kinko’s. If we pick a name that matches the credit cards, you can use them in an emergency. Cash is better, since it’s harder to trace, but it’s hard to get enough in the sums we need sometimes.” Sam shrugged helplessly. “I don’t bother with money _much,_ but Dean made me learn the basics.”  
  
Jacob nodded blankly and pondered the glovebox. "Right," he muttered, an automatic reply while he processed what he was hearing.  
  
A moment later, he offered Sam a sheepish smile of his own. "The basics are all anyone needs, anyway. More than that gets kinda boring unless you're an accountant," he said, thinking of the economics class he'd taken at some point. _That_ had been a good class to catch some sleep if he was tired.  
  
He made sure Sam had a steady spot back on his shoulder. Then, the engine growling and the AC trying to keep up, they were off.  
  


* * *

  
Bowman pushed himself up off the floor so quickly he almost dizzied himself. Dean was right. He'd gotten the human to the floor, and their escape was well underway, but they weren't in the clear yet. The mad scientist's dungeon loomed all around, that workbench standing tall nearby.  
  
He got to his feet and he and Dean made their way to the gathering of nestlings just under the bench. Bowman glanced up and saw the top column of the microscope before it passed out of view, and a grim smile came to his face.  
  
The torment he'd faced under it could be over soon. Forgotten as soon as they found a way out.  
  
"Maybe we can get in the walls like Sam does," he said out loud once they reached the others. The young nestlings stood close to Rischa, who watched the adults with wide eyes.  
  
She was good at comforting others with a gentle voice and a kind smile. Something like this was beyond her, and beyond Bowman if he was honest. But they couldn't quit now.  
  
First things first, Bowman's wings fanned open to urge the other sprites to walk further away from the front of the work bench, to keep hidden well underneath it. They needed to be out of sight completely, just in case. While he walked, he glanced along the back wall that they could barely see under that workbench.  
  
There wasn't a vent opening there. He frowned in disappointment. If they could slip into the metal corridors, much like when he'd first tried to escape Sam and Dean, they’d be well out of reach of their captor until help arrived.  
  
Bowman huffed and glanced at Dean. "If we can just find a place for them to be safe, we can think about what to do next."  
  
"The calling thing," Rischa recalled hopefully. "If we can find a way to call to Sam, he can come."  
  
Dean nodded in agreement. “Walls first,” he insisted gently. “Once we’re in hiding, we can plot our next step. So long as the kids are safe. They don’t come out of hiding until Jacob’s here.” Whatever Jacob thought of _him,_ Dean knew the teenager could be trusted with the sprites, and that’s all that mattered.  
  
He took a moment to look around the room, rubbing distractedly at his ribs as he did so. Though he lacked Sam’s instincts when it came to spotting hidden entrances and nooks they could slip into, he was no pushover. Dean had spotted the two entrances Sam used back in the _Trails West_ when he wasn’t sold on the tiny kid he’d caught being his brother, and had since worked at honing his abilities with Sam a time or two for practice. They never knew what would come in useful down the line, so the best move was preparing them _both._ Sam wasn’t the only one who needed to train.  
  
“The walls are old,” Dean muttered to himself, starting in the direction that looked the most promising with the most shadows. “There’ll be plenty of places to slip in, but we might have to watch out for rotting wood.”  
  
He was starting to think he should have spent more time on lessons with Sam. How could they ever have predicted things would switch so completely on Dean? He didn’t even have his little brother’s knack for knowing when people were searching for him, an ability that was looking more and more desirable.  
  
Bowman nodded and continued to the back of the hiding space they'd chosen. Rischa and the other nestlings followed him, though they didn't have any more ideas than he did. Bowman found himself brushing his hands along the thick wallpaper, stirring up years of dust.  
  
Vel sneezed. "We're gonna be in the dark?"  
  
Rischa squeezed his little hand. "Yeah. But the human can't reach us in there."  
  
"Dean has the light-stick, I think. It'll help," Bowman recalled, sending Vel an encouraging smirk. He couldn't tell if anyone could see it in the shadows.  
  
While he searched, the quiet little wraith sprite, who'd hardly put five words together since Bowman and Dean had arrived, stepped forward to help search for an opening. Bowman gave the shy kid a grateful nod. Wraith sprites tended to keep their colonies in human dwellings a lot like Sam's folk did. Bowman had gotten so used to the wraiths living in Wellwood that he'd nearly forgotten.  
  
"Let us know if you find something," he encouraged. "You can rattle your quills if you don't wanna talk." The boy nodded dutifully, his hands and arms already covered in dust.  
  
Bowman tried to ignore the footsteps that echoed in the distance. The human could simply be passing by.  
  
Another, and another. Closer and closer, and his wings flared behind him. They hadn't found a way into the walls, and they'd almost checked everything they could under that workbench. Anything else would take them out from their safe cover.  
  
Bowman left the little wraith sprite to keep looking and whirled around. He took the knife from his scarf and held it awkwardly in front of himself.  
  
"Could this knife cut into the wall?" he whispered in as low a voice as he could. Fighting was Dean's specialty, sprite-sized or not. Bowman gestured with the knife to the bottom edge of the door. They could see a shadow falling over it. "Or should I distract him?"  
  
The door swung open, and Bowman's words retreated back into him.  
  
He never liked seeing human shoes from a spot standing on the ground. It drove into him just how small he was by comparison. None of the escapees under the workbench could survive if one of those shoes landed on them.  
  
Instead of sending Dean into panic, the sight of the so-called sorcerer sent him into overdrive, his instincts calling him to fight.  
  
But before he could give in to that, he needed to get the sprites focused.  
  
“Everyone run,” Dean said, keeping his voice down. “Bowman will distract him in the air and I’ll run backup on the ground.” For a second he debated between gun and knife, and only chose his knife when he recalled the speed the scientist had recovered from a pint-sized gunshot wound. Not even an annoyance.  
  
Dean held out his flashlight for the little wraith. “You can find them a way into the walls,” he said confidently. “Don’t look back.”  
  
That said, Dean nodded at Rischa, wishing he wasn’t about to put her cousin at risk. “Don’t get grabbed,” he warned Bowman, and then ran the opposite direction from the kids. “Go!”  
  
Bowman's eyes widened, but he jogged after Dean. He could barely spare the nestlings one last glance before he focused ahead. They had a chance to get away. He could risk punishment or another wait in a cage if it meant getting them out of danger.  
  
It was a lot more responsibility than he wanted to put on Rischa's shoulders while she was still so young, but there was no choice. That human had never given any of them a choice.  
  
Ahead of him, Dean had already reached the front of the workbench.  
  


* * *

  
The Kinko's parking lot was sparse. Jacob picked a spot and paused, peering in through the wide glass doors. He would definitely stand out in there, business casual clothes or not. Anyone would notice someone standing on his shoulder, as high as his shoulders naturally were.  
  
"Uh. Pocket okay?" he asked, glancing at Sam in the mirror.  
  
“That works.”  
  
Instead of waiting for Jacob’s assistance, Sam scaled down from Jacob’s shoulder and ducked in the pocket himself, much like he did with Dean when the coast was clear. From here, Sam stood to check the height of the pocket, finding himself just tall enough to see out while standing.  
  
Definitely deeper than Dean’s. Those were child’s play for Sam, unless he got playfully buttoned in.  
  
Sam frowned, pushing on Jacob’s chest so he could lean back and talk. “If people are around, one punch for no, two for yes!” he called up. He’d almost forgotten that _Dean_ was the only one that knew Morse. “Unless you know Morse code…?”  
  
Jacob almost shrugged, but stopped himself. That would probably bounce his pocket and knock Sam off balance. With his chin tucked to his chest to keep an eye on his tiny passenger, he could actually see how much simple motions for him could affect Sam. Just his breathing caused the pocket to sway, slowly and steadily.  
  
"I only know S-O-S," he admitted. "I don't think that'll be much use in a Kinko's."  
  
Now that Sam wasn't up on his shoulder and likely to be thrown to the seat, Jacob leaned carefully to the glovebox. Just as Sam had said, there were credit cards in there, as well as more IDs than one guy would need.  
  
He grabbed one card at random and straightened. "Alright, I guess I'll head in there and pretend to be ... _M Hamill?_ " He glanced down to Sam again. "These actually work for Dean?"  
  
Sam sniggered. “You’d be surprised.” He waved at the cards. “Take whatever one you want. He’s even got a backup of that _John Bonham_ one Bowman loves so much.”  
  
The _M Hamill_ one was in there because Sam had picked the name, looking hopefully up at Dean to see if he approved of what Sam had scrawled out in a notebook. _Ford_ was another he’d picked, figuring Dean could use a splash of color in the line-up of classic rock singers he ordinarily used.  
  
Patting Jacob’s chest, Sam let his grip go on the pocket so it closed up around him. “All you need is confidence and to look like you know what you’re doing!” was his last assurance he called to Jacob before vanishing into the depths to wait the ride until it was safe to peer out again. He was on call and ready to get the job done, actually anticipating being able to help out instead of just order around.  
  
Jacob shot his pocket one more bemused look. He wasn't sure how to look like he knew what he was doing, not when it came to making himself a _fake ID_. He had friends that would be much better suited to something like that.  
  
Rather than dwell on it and psyche himself out, Jacob killed the engine and left the car. With every step towards the door, he could swear someone would point at his pocket in shock, finding the small shape there. Or they'd glare at him accusingly for what he was about to try.  
  
People didn't care about his entrance at all. One guy raised his eyebrows at Jacob's height, and that was it.  
  
Jacob gave the bored-to-sleep clerk a friendly nod and made his way to the printers. He couldn't help but sigh when he reached them, ready to get this over with. He glanced to a sign listing instructions for scanning and printing, noting at the same time that this corner was conveniently absent of those mirrors that would let someone else know exactly what he was printing (or what he had in his pocket).  
  
With Jacob motionless, Sam took the opportunity to push himself up so he could look out of the pocket.  
  
There was no answering tingle on the back of his neck that might point to someone about to _look_ at them, so Sam straightened, hooking his arms over the edge of the pocket.  
  
It was much like the first time he’d done this with Dean. Kinko’s was quiet and subdued at this time of day. Later it would be hopping, when schools and businesses got out and people had to run to get a quick copy or send a fax, but as it was, this would be perfect for Sam’s uses.  
  
“We’ll need to make this as perfect as possible,” Sam said, craning his neck back. “Just do exactly as I say.”  
  
Jacob glanced down and nodded. He didn't risk saying anything out loud; Sam's voice was quiet and wouldn't carry far, but Jacob couldn't say the same. Instead, he focused on not losing any of the whispered instructions as they got started. Sam might claim he didn’t know as much as Dean when it came to this part of the job, but he was adept at the skills and his soft voice kept Jacob centered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> C'mon guys, you can make it!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** September 16th, 2020 at 9pm.


	31. On the Run

The scientist stood amidst the hanging cages with a glare of rage forming slowly on his face. The doors hung open, all captives gone. While he watched, the lock from the children's cage fell loose from the door and dropped to the floor with a loud clatter.  
  
It had to have been that hunter somehow. The scientist swatted a hand at the empty cage with enough force that the thing nearly swung upside down. It would have dashed the shrunken man against the bars hard enough to break bones, if he'd been inside. The scientist wasn't ruling that out yet.  
  
And then, motion on the floor drew his sharp gaze.  
  
" _You,_ " he growled. His usual cool demeanor flared with sharp anger instead. With the subjects of weeks of research missing, he was all but seeing red.  
  
He took a heavy step towards Dean and stooped quickly. He was ready to squeeze the life out of the brash little hunter.  
  
Before he could reach Dean, a flash of green darted out from under the workbench and fluttered up towards his eyes. He couldn't stop himself from flinching back as Bowman's wings buffeted his face. There was another booming step, this time from the scientist rearing backwards in sheer surprise.  
  
Bowman angled back with a grin, proud that he'd startled the human so much. One huge hand swept through the air distractedly, off the mark by several inches, and Bowman dodged it easily.  
  
"Not so great without us locked up, are you?" he taunted loudly, glad his voice didn't shake despite his fear.  
  
With Bowman taunting the scientist, Dean spared one last glance at the kids, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that they would find their way to safety and _fast._ Better they find their ways into the walls and hide out than be stuck with that asshat a second longer. Sam would find them. He always managed to surprise Dean.  
  
This wasn’t a fight Dean thought he’d come back from.  
  
The thought kept intruding, even as he waited for the moment the scientist was completely focused on Bowman to dart into the open, that Sam would have found a _different_ way. A way where no one had to be the target, where they’d all escape _together._  
  
Maybe if he’d had more time to plan, or if his ribs didn’t ache so much just standing. But now Dean only saw one way out, and that was only open to the kids.  
  
That was what was on his mind as he darted out into the open, stowing his knife in favor of his new target. The kids, and their freedom.  
  
The scientist looked down to see Dean on the move again. Just like before, Bowman didn't let him advance on the tiny hunter without swooping into his field of vision, banking way too close for comfort before backing off again.  
  
The scientist glared as Bowman darted away from him, and lifted a hand. Two fingers drew a quick symbol in the air, and Bowman felt his heart lurch. That had been used just before--  
  
The human flicked his fingers dismissively and suddenly Bowman was sent spinning by no move of his own. Force shoved against one of his wings and it pressed against his side, while the other fluttered frantically to keep him airborne.  
  
He tumbled a few more times in the air before righting himself. By the time both wings were mobile again, Bowman realized with a grumble that he'd lost his grip on his knife. It was on the floor somewhere, out of sight.  
  
The scientist was scanning Dean's run on the floor again. Bowman's eyes widened and he darted forward, ready to distract one more time.  
  
He hit a wall as the scientist stomped forward hastily, cutting off Dean's path on the ground and Bowman's path in the air.  
  
Bowman's wings jittered and he fell a few more inches in a daze. The human stooped over them both, a satisfied grin on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. His cold green gaze locked onto Dean's tiny form.  
  
"Thought you'd let my specimens roam free, did you?" he asked, flicking the symbol at Bowman again. The force rushed straight downwards this time, knocking him from the air and pinning him to the floor. "Do you think that was wise, little hunter?"  
  
Dean stumbled to a stop as the huge foot cut off his path, quickly changing direction. So his plan to go for the guy’s shoelaces in a partially-lame, partially-desperate attempt to keep his attention on them was a flop. He could figure something else out.  
  
Bowman took precedence. Dean darted for the sprite, his boots hitting the ground in speedy bursts, the complete opposite of Sam’s more loping run when it came to escaping. Between the two brothers, Dean was actually _faster_ on the same scale by using this method.  
  
It got him to Bowman’s side, and Dean skidded to a halt next to his friend’s fallen form. “Wise ain’t my deal,” he growled, staring straight up at the human and pulling out his knife. “Dealing with monsters like you _is._ ”  
  
Bowman wriggled against the invisible bindings that kept him stuck to the floor. They pressed down on his middle, so his wings could flutter uselessly while a bruise grew on his back from when he'd slammed down.  
  
Without him flying around, the scientist could loom over the pair on the floor at his own pace. Bowman glared up at that smirking face while Dean stood to his defense.  
  
It was pointless, and they all knew it, but Bowman saved some room in his heart for gratitude while the rest was reserved for frustration. They'd been _so close._ If the man had taken just a little more time to return to the room, they might have made it. The young wraith sprite could have found them all a doorway into the walls, and they could be safe.  
  
Hopefully the children could still make it out of this.  
  
"We've dealt with way worse than you before," Bowman taunted, still trying to squirm away from where he was pinned. The scientist knelt down to leer at them both, and Bowman's heart fluttered, but he didn't quit. "Ever hear of a lich? They're so much worse, y'know. And so much stronger."  
  
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Dean called out, his voice raised in the hopes of keeping attention focused on them. “The lich is an undead _sorcerer._ Just like our buddy here.” He glared up at the man, keeping himself in a battle stance in preparation to lash out. “Hear that? Come a few decades and you’ll be falling to pieces like all good sorcerers. Relying on outside sources to keep your life force alive. And that’s if I _don’t_ kill you.” He sneered.  
  
The scientist narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly. "Little hunter, once I've cracked the secret your pet sprite is hiding, that won't be a concern at _all,_ " he reminded them. "So take your shots while you can." With that last warning, a hand shot towards Dean, fingers already curled in anticipation of snatching him off the floor.  
  
“I’ll take any shot I can!” While spitting out the words, Dean jumped clear over Bowman to avoid the grab, his boots hitting the floor, and his knife held at the ready.  
  
A thousand thoughts ran through his head as he braced his knees, lunging forward at the massive hand.  
  
Watching Sam try this exact same move against him, diving between the fingers and going for the weak points where the joints came together or where the nails met skin.  
  
Lessons with his baby brother which always ended up with Sam bitching at Dean from a fist, though he was growing faster with each attempt. Dodging better, learning how to avoid the fingers closing in around him. Lessons Dean wished he’d learned from the other side now.  
  
How many people were counting on him right now?  
  
Dean struck out with his knife as he sliced it at the quick of the scientist’s thumb.  
  
Bowman's eyes were wide and he struggled as mightily as a willowy sprite like him could. The scientist's hand had swept by almost directly above him, along with Dean's spry leap. Bowman didn't want to simply _watch_ this all unfold. He was supposed to be helping.  
  
He had a perfect view as Dean's knife, a silver fang so much like its twin that stayed with Sam, arced through the air towards the giant's hand. He couldn't help but flinch as it struck, and the hand retreated faster than he could blink.  
  
The scientist observed the slice on his thumb with the faintest disapproving frown on his face. "Is that any way to treat a master?" he jeered. "Your sprite has it figured out, see?"  
  
"Take this spell off me and I'll show you just how well behaved I am!" Bowman shot back, his wings slapping uselessly against the floor.  
  
"Perhaps you just want to match," the human continued, as if Bowman hadn't said a word. Almost lazily, he lifted his other hand and prepared to draw the same symbol he'd used on Bowman.  
  
 _God, I could really use Sam here._  
  
The thought ran through Dean’s mind as he quickly switched from attacking to running, putting distance between him and Bowman. If they both got pinned, it was a matter of seconds before the kids were sought out. Dean and Bowman were all that was in the way of that, and they were little more than distractions in the long run.  
  
Well, he would have to be a _good_ distraction.  
  
Didn’t stop him from wishing he had Sam’s skills with climbing.  
  
“I think I’ll take my chances like this!” he yelled over his shoulder, his grip tightening on the hilt of his knife as he prepared for the inevitable counterattack.  
  
Bowman fluttered his wings the best he could, letting them strike the hard floor. Anything to distract the scientist. Two fingertips traced that spell symbol in the air in an agonizingly slow loop, and Bowman craned his neck to watch Dean's sprint away.  
  
He was fast, but the full sized human ... he'd always be faster.  
  
The strange spell was shoved after Dean's run with little more than a flick of the fingers. The invisible force, as potent as ever, slammed into one of the tiny shoulders hard enough to nearly lift him right off the floor.  
  
Just as quickly, the scientist's other hand snatched after Dean, ready to end the chase at last while the shrunken hunter was still reeling from the spell.  
  
Dean was unable to catch his balance in time to avoid the hand, fingers larger than his entire body swiftly closing in on him. The knife, clutched in the hand attached to his injured shoulder and now hanging limply at his side, was pinned to his waist as the hand sealed shut around him.  
  
This was when Dean got his first real taste of what it was like to be trapped in an unfriendly hand, and he was thrown back, two years in the past to the day he’d found Sam in his room.  
  
Hearing a thump in his room… Reacting instantly, instincts on red alert as Dean practically dove at the source. He never expected to pull a tiny _man_ out from behind his nightstand, and though his grip was lighter than the one sealed around him now, Sam was just as helpless as sharp green eyes passed over him like he was just a curiosity.  
  
 _This is what I get… Karma like a bitch._  
  
Just like back then, the hand yanked backwards and lifted up for another pair of green eyes to glare down at the captive. Despite the attempted disinterest on the human's face, this time there was real malice there. The scientist narrowed his icy green eyes at his tiny captive. If he felt any sign of Dean trying to escape, he didn't even acknowledge it.  
  
"For your sake, I had better be able to find every single one of my specimens, little hunter," the scientist informed him. He said it as dispassionately as if he'd just told Dean it was raining outside.  
  
Then, without further scolding, he lowered Dean to the floor, dropping him down on his back a few inches from Bowman. The impact barely had time to jolt through the tiny body before two fingertips were pressed harshly on Dean's chest. The same force spell that had pinned him to the bars of the cage, that pinned Bowman now, settled over Dean's body.  
  
With Dean pinned, the scientist turned his glare to Bowman. "Don't think you'll be spared just because you're my prime specimen," he said, reaching down to pinch the sprite around the waist.  
  
Bowman winced and shot Dean one last glance before he was freed from the spell only to be yanked into the air.  
  
Without skipping a beat, the scientist shifted where he knelt, planting a shoe only a few inches from where he'd pinned Dean. He rose to his full height, dragging Bowman with him but leaving the shrunken hunter all the way down on the floor. Forced to see how small he was in comparison, how far away the hanging cage was when Bowman was tossed into it harshly. The cage was locked with a resounding _clang!_  
  
"If you tell me where they are, I might go easier on you," the scientist sneered, tilting his head down to address Dean one last time. The toe of the shoe nearest him scraped along the floor to nudge at one of his pinned legs pointedly.  
  
Dean had to choke down an outcry, his leg trying to twitch away from the thick sole. The house-sized shoe next to him could crush that leg in an instant, leave nothing behind but a smear. He’d seen it happen before, bugs and cockroaches crushed beneath his own boots in an instant, an unrecognizable mess all that remained of them. It was a primal fear in Dean, one buried through long eons of humans being on the top of the food chain, but its resurgence was no less powerful because of it.  
  
That didn’t stop his face from hardening to stop any of that fear showing. “ _Eat me,_ ” he snarled, trying to writhe out of the pin. “If my death is what it takes for them to get away, I’ll count it a _bargain._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Coming to a quick end.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** September 20th, 2020 at 9pm.


	32. Bravado and Taunts

The scientist scoffed, but no punishment was forthcoming yet. No one could really have expected Dean to break down so easily after everything. The scientist stepped back, but didn't move to take Dean off the floor yet.  
  
No, he would have to stay there and watch as the man sought out the little sprites he was so desperate to protect.  
  
"Hey!" Bowman shouted, while the scientist knelt to check the lower shelves near his workbench first. "Leave the nestlings be, you have me now."  
  
"I'm not going to waste a renewable source of all the magic I want," the scientist responded. Something in his voice suggested he hardly even realized he was speaking. He was focused on scouring the room.  
  
Bowman held his breath, wishing he could stop it even as that keen gaze zeroed in on the workbench. It was, after all, the place Dean and Bowman had emerged from when they attempted their failed distraction. With almost agonizing slowness, the scientist planted a hand on the floor and lowered his head to peer underneath it.  
  
For a moment, Bowman wondered if the young wraith sprite would be able to help, spreading those quills wide and snatching away the thoughts in the human's head. It was a skill the wraiths used to hide away among humans. Taking the memory of finding a sprite was their calling card.  
  
"Aha," the scientist said. From up in his cage, Bowman could see the man's wicked, smug grin.  
  
They hadn't made it into the walls.  
  
Bowman's wings crashed against the bars of his cage, making as much noise as he could. "Stop it! Leave them alone!"  
  
Dean tried to pull his wrists from where they felt cemented to the floor to no avail. Whatever the spell was that held him in place, it was as effective as flypaper.  
  
 _Or telekinesis._  
  
Annoyed by the resemblance to Walt’s power, another time Dean had been held fast by invisible forces, he resumed his struggles, face scrunched in concentration. “I _swear_ I’m gonna find a way to beat your ass,” Dean said, angrily trying to kick either leg free.  
  
The scientist didn't answer. He was too focused on the group of sprites huddled underneath the workbench, as far back as they could go. More than one of them already had tears streaming down their faces, and Rischa hugged Vel close as he cried into her shoulder. They had come so close to making it out. Somewhere the man couldn't find them, couldn't leer at them with that cold green gaze.  
  
Now, with a muttered word they didn't understand and another motion of his hand, a wall of force appeared behind them and shoved them away from their dark, safe corner.  
  
Rischa dug in her heels, and her wings twitched, but just as Dean and Bowman were useless against the human's spell, so were the nestlings. They were drawn inevitably to the front of the workbench once more.  
  
As soon as they were close enough, a huge hand swept harshly under the bench and pushed them all together. They stumbled out into the open, cowering together.  
  
The scientist sat up so his shadow loomed over them. Even without the spell pushing them around, they knew better than to try to run to safety again. In that room, while the scientist was around, there _was_ no safety.  
  
"Looks like my little hunter is a bad influence," the man remarked. Then, his hands, long and tapered, reached down and gathered them all up. Rischa did her best to hold the youngest of them close to her, but two nestlings disappeared into the other fist. They all rose into the air quickly, the scientist standing to his full height once more.  
  
He stepped over Dean to make his way to their cage. One hand shoved the captives in after the other and the lock was back in place before they could even untangle themselves.  
  
Finally, the scientist looked back down at Dean, still pinned to the floor. "Have you learned?"  
  
Dean glared upwards.  
  
If he wasn’t so pale, there would be no sign of his brewing discomfort, pinned to the floor while a _giant_ walked around him. Stuck watching the people he was supposed to protect be rounded up and herded into a cage like little more than pests.  
  
He didn’t blink when the scientist stepped over him, a droplet of sweat beading on his forehead. His mouth flattened, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. There was no way he or any of the sprites would survive if they were stepped on. Especially on purpose. They _couldn’t_ survive that.  
  
The ever-present niggling reminder than _Dean’s_ boots would actually be far bigger than the scientist’s prodded at him, threatening to break his composure. It took a lot of work to keep the glare in place. Dean was big, Jacob was bigger. This scientist, seen from a distance, was scrawny by comparison to either of them.  
  
Only now Dean was smaller than a G.I. Joe and far less durable.  
  
That didn’t stop him from tilting his head as far back as he could as he answered, never one to hold back against his captor, and go “I learned a _ton_ while I was down here,” without his voice cracking.  
  
“In fact, those shoes you’re wearing are pretty flimsy. I can see the sole coming off the bottoms. Puddles must be a bitch. Those pants are ragged, I bet you haven’t been out of this house much recently. You might want to try going outside from time to time. It’ll help that complexion of yours look less like ‘I live in my mom’s basement’ and more like you have a life outside your work.”  
  
The scientist blinked lazily, like a cat who hadn't decided yet if it was going to go after a mouse. If Dean's comments got to him, he didn't show it outwardly. "You know precious little about my work," he dismissed. "But you should consider yourself lucky you get to see it progress."  
  
He walked back to where he'd left Dean with slow, deliberate steps. The floor shook with each one, as the scientist let his footfalls land heavier than usual. When he was just a step from Dean, he crouched down so quickly it created a breeze of displaced air that brushed the pinned hunter's spiky hair.  
  
"Don't think you'll get off light for trying to set my subjects loose."  
  
The words were the only warning before a hand snatched out at Dean, prying him easily off the floor despite all his fruitless efforts to get away himself. His lower half was squashed in a fist and he lifted to the man's face so fast it put a strain on his tiny spine.  
  
The other hand approached, one finger propped against the pad of the thumb. It held that position close to Dean's head, the threat of a simple flick obvious in the gesture.  
  
"Do you think your skull could take it?" he asked mildly, as if asking Dean if he thought it might rain later.  
  
“No,” Dean said flatly, his tone implying this was a waste of his time. As much as his heart fluttered with fear and anticipation and his breathing quickened, none of that came across. Dean even forced his chest to expand and contract as though he was breathing normally.  
  
He had a life of fighting against the impossible to draw upon and disguise how he really felt in this situation, as out of control as it was for him.  
  
“What _I_ think’ll happen is you’ll lose your pet hunter, and then you won’t be able to compare me to my brother-- that is, if you could even manage to catch him. Too bad. Your loss.”  
  
The scientist smirked. "You overestimate your worth in the long run," he pointed out. It was clear in everything he'd done so far that the sprites were his real prize.  
  
He released the flick, but not at full force. The tip of his finger hit the side of Dean's head enough to be like a heavy punch, and then the man stood up with his captive in tow. The sprites went ignored as he kept his cold gaze on the man trapped in his hand, but now the other prisoners could see as the abuse played out.  
  
"You're _very_ lucky they're all back in cages where they belong," the scientist admonished. His other hand appeared once again, this time pinching a finger and thumb around Dean's chest.  
  
The pressure built right over where Dean's heart would be, as if the man were trying to get to that miniscule organ. Enough that breathing was hard, but not enough quite yet to snap a bone.  
  
The other hand opened, leaving Dean hanging from that grip, nothing but a finger and thumb between him and a deadly fall.  
  
Dazed, his eyes bleary and unfocused and wondering if he had a concussion, Dean clung to the fingers pinched around him, his legs kicking free as he tried to scramble up, away, _anywhere._ “You sonova _bitch,_ ” he slurred, the pain and panic enough to fend off unconsciousness.  
  
Dean weakly tried to reach around behind himself and pull out his colt, anything that might end the torment, but it was pinned to his back by the giant pad of a finger, digging the metal into his back. _That’ll leave a mark,_ he thought distantly, changing his reach into a punch against the solid surface. Dean’s fist bounced off the fingernail like he’d never hit it in the first place. The man’s fingers might as well be tree trunks and the nail might as well be bark. His hits could do nothing. Even digging his fingers in and trying to pull at the skin that shreds along the sides would be less than an annoyance.  
  
Inconsequential, like him.  
  
Clinging tighter to the fingers, Dean glared through his haze at what he thought was the man’s face, blinking back tears of pain. “If you’re gonna drop me, just do it already!” he snapped angrily, his helplessness to end his dangling torment rushing up at him in a wave.  
  
His tormentor didn't acknowledge his demand or his struggles. The scientist coldly observed Dean's attempts to cling or kick himself free, without any progress whatsoever. That helplessness he felt creeping in was _real_ and the scientist knew it.  
  
"Hey, stop it!" Bowman blurted, banging his wings yet again on the bars of the cage. "We get it, okay? You ... you're in charge." No matter how he hated saying it, no matter how it stung his pride to admit that they were helpless against this man, he had to. If it got Dean out of trouble, it was worth it.  
  
That got more of a reaction than anything Dean had tried. The scientist smirked at Bowman, the smug satisfaction all but oozing off of him. "It just figures your pet would catch on sooner," he jeered, ignoring Bowman's most potent glare.  
  
"If you want to be released, very well," he added, opening the pinch grip.  
  
Dean dropped like a stone, his arms and legs automatically thrown out in reaction as he tried to catch hold of something.  
  
 _Anything._  
  
Dean didn't fall a foot before the other hand appeared under him, expertly stopping his fall and curling him up in a fist, but it was enough for that slinking panic to coil around his heart. Then, with a dismissive flick of the wrist, the full-sized human dropped Dean back into his cage, no regard for how harshly he handled the smaller man.  
  
"Get some rest." With that clipped advice, the cage locks were all double checked, and the man left the room with a slam of the door.  
  


* * *

  
By the time everything was printed and the machine's whining slowed down to mere background noise, Jacob half expected the credit card he'd chosen to be rejected. Instead, _Amount Correct?_ showed up on the screen, with 'M Hamill' above it and the relatively cheap price of making himself a fake ID below.  
  
 _Holy shit._ He punched the correct buttons and stowed the items in his wallet before leaving, giving the clerk another respectful nod. This time, the guy didn't even respond, already dropping back into a bored snooze.  
  
Jacob was back in the Impala moments later, and he heaved a sigh, holding up the new ID to survey their handiwork. "Damn. I know it makes me sound lame, but that was a rush."  
  
Sam grinned in triumph, just as proud of their work. “I knew you had it in you!”  
  
With Jacob in the car and out of sight of any casual passerby, Sam took it upon himself to climb back up to Jacob’s ‘shotgun shoulder,’ wondering if he should share the name he’d given a human’s right shoulder with the teenager. He decided against it, wondering if it would just be another thing that set him apart from normal.  
  
This was all much easier with Dean, who stood out as much as Sam did in his own way.  
  
“Let’s get back to the room. We can organize our plans and do the interviews tomorrow morning,” Sam said. “We can check in on that missing scientist that didn’t get his prize first, and then see if there’s any other missing persons reported for the last month. There could be a connection.”  
  
Jacob nodded absently. He was more focused on keeping his shoulder as upright as he could while he sank down to grab the car's wires again. The Impala was probably their best option, with the arsenal in the trunk and Sam's special entrance, but _damn_ it felt weird to keep doing this.  
  
Once they were on their way at last, he could ask the question that came to mind. "So ... if I go to interview someone about that guy, what do I, uh, I mean what's my _angle,_ I guess. Just walk up to some T.A. and ask about him?"  
  
He glanced to Sam in the mirror before returning his sheepish look back to the road. "I've never acted in anything in my life," he admitted.  
  
Sam smiled reassuringly back at Jacob. “Don’t worry, this one we can manage.”  
  
Out of habit, he gestured with an arm, despite the fact that Jacob couldn’t look down at him. “Normally we go in when people have been missing or declared dead, so it’s not unusual to have reporters or the FBI out asking questions. Here, the man hasn’t been gone long enough for a missing person’s report, plus a lot of times, people don’t get reported when they go missing. If he doesn’t have immediate family or someone close to _care,_ it can go overlooked for _weeks_.”  
  
Years, even, Sam knew. He’d read up on some reports Dean had once, where a woman was found dead in her home two years after she’d gone missing. No one had cared to look for her… so no one ever came.  
  
“But we’ve got an angle we can tackle, and the paper gave it to us on the front page.”  
  
Sam’s grin broadened, his eyes lighting up. “You can go in, wanting to interview this award winner for your paper. That gives you the ability to ask where he is, if anyone knows why he’s missing and didn’t make it to the ceremony and if anyone knows _why_ he might have gone missing. If he has no reason to be gone, we could have a lead. Another person MIA like Dean.”  
  
Jacob considered it and nodded slowly. For all they knew, some unassuming, absent-minded professor had been selected as a test subject for whatever was now taking sprites instead. That, or he just couldn't be bothered to go get his award. Some academic types were like that.  
  
Like Sam said, it was the best chance they had. "Okay," Jacob agreed. "I bet he's got an assistant or someone who might know."  
  
Figuring out if the same ominous symbol had been left around would be tougher. Jacob had a fleeting suspicion that Sam's next lesson for him would involve breaking into someone's private office or home. He definitely couldn't get caught doing that; his stepdad would never let him hear the end of it, and it'd put Sam in danger, too.  
  
"Maybe we can look the guy up when we get back," he added, angling the Impala back towards their base at the motel.  
  
“We’ll look him up, find if and where he has classes or his research lab, who his assistant is,” Sam said, growing more excited at the thought of what they _could_ do. “Dean always says it’s best to do interviews in the morning, that way it doesn’t look as suspicious as someone just rolling in near rush hour, so we can gather everything we need for tomorrow and be ready.”  
  
Bobby had research going on the symbol while Sam and Jacob had their own line of attack to tackle. It was all starting to work out the way it _should,_ the way it did when Dean was around. Sam felt a bubble of confidence that they could track down all the missing people. The fear for Dean and why they hadn’t heard from him yet was a seed that took root deep in Sam’s chest, but with the sudden influx of hope, that seed grew a little weaker.  
  
“We can do this,” Sam said, determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, all you can do is talk to defend yourself.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** September 23rd, 2020 at 9pm.


	33. To the Edge of Breaking

Dean hit the floor of his cage and had no way to keep himself from crumpling into a heap, his arms jelly, his heart pounding and adrenaline racing through his veins and leaving him in a state of near panic as he curled into a ball. Maybe, just maybe, if he couldn’t see the world around him, it would go away.  
  
Bowman glared at the door as if he might burn a hole right through it and then into the human's back. But the scientist was long gone, stormed off after the excitement of the near escape. They had been so close to making it, and he kept playing it all over and over in his head ... would they have had a chance, if only he'd been better at distracting the man?  
  
His wings were flared out despite the pain screaming in every bone. Bowman paced, kicked feebly at his water dish, and then paced more.  
  
He finally noticed a few minutes later that Dean hadn't moved.  
  
"Hey ... Dean," he called, grasping the bars of his cage. "Are you ... did he break something?"  
  
In the third cage, Rischa sat nearly frozen, her golden eyes open wide in a mixture of shock and terror. The nestlings around her nudged at her sides and her wings, but for seconds that stretched out into an eternity for her, she was trapped in what had transpired.  
  
Fear, pain, anger, pride, _breaking._ It was all there. She felt the scientist's rage no matter how well he hid it. Her wings were sore with phantom pains from Bowman's thrashing around in his cage. The nestlings' despair and disappointment wafted all around her.  
  
The others ... their bones weren't broken, but pieces of them were chipping away. Bit by bit by bit. Rischa almost couldn't find herself again as the impact of it crashed over her.  
  
She took a sudden breath and focused her eyes. "Bowman, Dean, you need healing," she called out. She scooted over to the cage wall closest to Dean's cage and watched his curled up form for a second. Her brow pinched mournfully. "D-don't worry, Dean, the Spirit will help you feel a little better."  
  
Dean weakly tried to move away, one hand pushing at the bars next to him, the other trapped under his body where he’d landed. “No…” he said, moaning as the pain in his ribs flared up again. “Just… take care of Bowman first. I’ll be fine.”  
  
Giving up on moving away from Rischa to try and escape her healing touch, Dean slumped back down. He didn’t want to be healed because a part of him felt like he’d _earned_ the pain. Karma from catching Sam, trapping Bowman, using his size against them just like the scientist was doing to them now.  
  
Rischa couldn't quite unravel what Dean's guilt meant, but she knew it was there. It didn't stop her any more than his words did. In seconds, her hands were clasped and her eyes closed in concentration. Using the healing touch without actually touching the subject of healing wasn't easy, and she doubted even Cerul, her teacher, ever did it this way.  
  
There was no denying it. They were desperate. Bowman and Dean both needed healing.  
  
Her fervent mutters barely reached Bowman's ears, but all the same he could feel the trickle of life magic threading its way through his body and out to his wings. The more he waited, the more magic flowed, and he sank down into a corner with a begrudging sigh.  
  
He couldn't look at the nestlings. They could be hiding away in the walls right now if they'd only had more time. But ... if they had gotten away, would the scientist have let Dean off without killing him?  
  
"We'll ... we'll figure something else out," he decided. They were _not_ going to trade their ally in like Dean had tried offering.  
  
Curled in a ball on his own, more distant from the kids than Bowman was, Dean also felt the healing power begin to trickle in, the pain in his chest slowly soothed. He curled into a tighter ball, wishing he had a way to avoid Rischa’s magic, but it was inevitable.  
  
Not all the aches and pains were gone, but after a few minutes Dean felt well enough to pull himself up with the bars and pull himself over to the cup of water sitting close by, dunking his head right in to clear his thoughts. The cool, refreshing liquid felt good against the burning in his head, signs of a headache coming on after all the strain of their attempted escape and recapture.  
  
“Sam will find us,” Dean muttered. “I know he will.”  
  
He didn’t know who he was trying to convince anymore. The sprites, or himself.  
  
"Yeah," Bowman agreed, though he didn't hear every word. He heard the flicker of hope in Dean's words, and it was enough. They probably weren't going to get out of this themselves, and it was finally sinking in. Until Sam and Jacob found them, Bowman would have to endure more "science," and Dean more abuse.  
  
After a minute, he finally looked over to the other cage. "Rischa, stop," he called out. She didn't halt her Prayer, so he spoke louder. "Birdie. You need to keep your strength."  
  
Rischa sighed, but for the time being the slow trickle of life magic tapered off. "I will try again in a while," she insisted. "The man ... he was very tired. I don't think he will come back before tomorrow."  
  
Bowman frowned. "Tired? What did _he_ do?" he asked, nearly offended that the scientist would be tired after what he'd put them through.  
  
Dean leaned back against the bars of the cage. At this point, battered and his spirit fractured, he didn’t notice the sway of the cage at all. “Magic,” he said heavily, thinking of the pin the scientist had kept on them the entire time he was searching for the children.  
  
“The magic witches and warlocks use ain’t easy, especially for newbies. It… tends to drain them before they adjust.” Dean frowned. “This guy sounds like he’s new to the game. Hasn’t dug too far into it. Looking for a different source of power. Demons… their usual source… those come with a stipulation. Usually, if you get magic from them, use it too much or make a deal for it, you lose your soul.”  
  
The revelation silenced the sprites for several long seconds. Bowman remembered hearing some of the same information from Sam, a year ago when he first met the Winchesters. That was the first time the sprites of Wellwood had ever learned that magic could be misused so horribly.  
  
Rischa herself had fought a battle against the evil, tainted magic that had tried to take over Dean's mind back then. As much as any of the sprites hated to believe it, a soul was in danger putting that to use. It was _wrong_ and should never happen.  
  
Bowman sighed, his frustration gone just like that. The lich had wanted to steal the sprites' magic source, too. To put it to use in twisted, terrible ways.  
  
It made it all the more important to keep the scientist from discovering Rischa. Her connection to the Spirit was stronger than any of the other sprites in the room. "I guess if he's new to it, that's a better sign for us," he reasoned. "He doesn't know all the tricks. Not like that lich knew."  
  
Dean stretched his back out, working what kinks he could past the hazy cloud of pain that lingered even after Rischa’s healing. “For now,” he said forebodingly, the impending threat of the human hanging over them all.  
  
One good thing that had come of that escape attempt: Dean still had his knife. The man was so dismissive of the threat he posed that it hadn’t been confiscated. Resigned, Dean tucked it back into his jacket. He would have to save it for when he needed it the most.  
  
And his colt of course. Dean itched to shoot the bastard in the eye, whether it did any good or not at this point. Get them some comeuppance.  
  
“Do you still have that knife?” Dean called to Bowman as he reassessed their supplies for the future.  
  
Bowman's gaze dropped to the scarf at his waist and he placed a hand over where he’d stored the knife before. It was no longer there. He’d lost, not it in all the commotion of carrying nestlings to the floor, but somewhere between getting to the ground and swooping around to try to get in the scientist's way.  
  
"I … don’t have it," he confirmed. _But what blasted good have I been with it anyway,_ he kept to himself. "It's ... I probably dropped it. For all I know that blasted scientist stepped on it."  
  
Dean waved off Bowman’s concern. “Whatever. We’ll get it later. I’ll sharpen it when we’re out,” he forced some optimism between his lips for the kids. He couldn’t let them give up hope.  
  
Hope was all they had right now.  
  
“Actually, maybe I’ll show you how to do it,” Dean mused, letting himself sag down, his arms slipping down to rest. “Sharpening the knives is always a good way to come down from a hunt. Relaxing.”  
  
"Just be real careful with 'em," Vel chimed in from his cage. His voice was still watery from fear and he had clearly only recently finished quietly crying. He rubbed at one of his eyes with his knuckles. Rischa patted the top of his head soothingly. "When knives an' swords get too sharp they're real dangerous. My papa always said," he explained, as though the others might not realize.  
  
Bowman smiled faintly. "We'll be careful," he assured the young nestling. "Didn't you say yourself that Sam and Dean could be knights?"  
  
Vel nodded tiredly. "Uh-huh. The knights always help the village an' Sam and Dean came to help," he reasoned, proud of the humans he'd adopted as members of his family.  
  
“Don’t you worry,” Dean said reassuringly. “I know how to handle weapons. Done it all my life.”  
  
There was an uneasy, empty silence down in the basement when Dean’s voice died away. The kind of silence caused by huge, open spaces. It was like having two people in a cathedral at night. No matter how much noise they made, it would always feel foreboding and _empty._  
  
Dean sighed, trying to shake away such thoughts. It wouldn’t bother him if he was normal-sized (he had to force himself to not think of his old size as _giant_ the way Bowman did). This kind of place was exactly where many of his hunts went down, and the creeping silence never got to him those times.  
  
Peering over at Bowman’s cage, Dean frowned as he remembered the rest of their capture. “How’s the wings?” he called. Bowman having his wings was more important than Dean being fully mobile. Flight was the only way they’d ever get down from this high perch.  
  
Bowman sighed. The reminder brought him back to the ever-present soreness in his wings. It was more distant to him now that Rischa had healed them for a short session, but the memory of the scientist pulling at them and twisting them every direction was fresh and horrifying. He could have easily lost control of the all-important limbs for a while.  
  
"They'll be okay," he called, with a hint of disdain in his voice. There shouldn't even be a _worry_ and he hated it.  
  
"They really have been in worse shape. Once," he admitted. He wasn't sure if he had told Sam what he was considering telling Dean. The worst pain his wings had ever felt was easy to imagine _now._ Trapped in a cage with stale water and sad, pathetic scraps of fruit, Bowman was not in his prime.  
  
"I got held up by my wings, one time," he explained with a scowl. "It took a Spirit dream to heal the blasted things."  
  
Dean suppressed a shudder. “Hard to believe things can get _worse_ than this,” he said hollowly.  
  
Shifting so he could see Bowman, Dean frowned. He'd seen what the scientist had done, and knowing that it could have been worse for Bowman-- worse without getting them ripped clean off, like Cerul-- was hard to swallow. Dean had met the Spirit of the wood sprites. She had given the brothers the gift of seeing each other on the same scale, for the length of a dream. That chance meant the world to Dean.  
  
He tried not to consider that once again, he was on Sam’s scale. This time, there was no safe haven and Sam and Jacob had escaped capture.  
  
“What happened?” Dean asked. “Why would someone want to _dangle_ you?”  
  
Bowman's lips twitched, a grim smirk that was gone as soon as it appeared. "He didn't like my attitude. I know, I'm just so sunny all the time, what's not to like?" The joke, thankfully, drew a few quiet, exhausted giggles out of the nestlings listening in.  
  
"He wanted to show me how small I was, as if I didn't notice," he continued, sobering up. "He pinched _both_ of my wings back and ... yeah." Bowman stretched his wings out in front of himself, as though phantom pain chased back and forth in his joints. "He ended up helping a little against the bad kind of hunter that showed up, but ... we're not gonna be friends, that's for blasted sure."  
  
  
Dean growled. “Better not,” he said darkly, his condemnation harsh after everything they’d gone through. All he'd done to his brother was trap him in a fist, and he’d spent _months_ working to make it up to Sam. “Sounds like he needed a good punch in the face to wake him up.”  
  
Stretching out his hand, Dean stared at how small it looked to him in the murky air of the basement as motes of dust floated around them. “Sam’s been hurt a few times when we hunt,” he admitted begrudgingly. “Only once was due to humans.”  
  
Bowman sighed, a long drawn out hiss of air. "I think I remember him mentioning ... _something,_ " he said back. His brow pinched as he cast his mind back. Sometime right after he'd been captured by _Dean,_ Bowman had chatted with Sam while they rode in a pocket.  
  
A lot of those memories were warped and hazy with fear. At the time, Bowman hadn't known if Dean was friend or foe, and since the man was taking him out of the forest against his will, he had assumed the latter. With strange, life-sick wolves in the forest and a discovery that humans could come in sprite size, Bowman had a lot happening all at once.  
  
He was gladder than ever that he'd been able to work past his differences with Dean then. Dean and Sam coming to help now might be the only thing that got everyone back to safety.  
  
"Did you give them the 'good punch in the face' they needed?" he asked, echoing Dean's vehement claim back at him.   
  
The memory of what he'd done to the Mangas’ family brought a smile to Dean’s face. “Punched one in the face,” he said. After he'd heard what Chance did to Sam, Dean wished he’d done _more._ Grubby, greedy fingers on his little brother. “Tied him up and left him so I could get everyone out. What _really_ got them was what Bobby-- _our_ Bobby did. He’s got contacts, and after we found a few charges to stick on them, they won’t see the light of day for a long, _long_ time. They’ll regret ever trying to sell people off as pets by the time they ever get out.”  
  
Bowman's face twisted up in a disdainful frown. "Pets," he echoed as if the word stung. Jacob had definitely explained that humans might see sprite sized people that way. Animals to cage up and keep. To those people, their voices didn't matter any more than they did to the scientist.  
  
"Spirit's dance. Why do all the bad giants have to be so hard to spot among the good ones?" He complained, tugging a wing onto his lap to massage the sore bones.  
  
People like the scientist or the people who took Sam could blend right in. Sprites and the small humans were forced into hiding and it didn't feel right at all. "At least that stupid lich was easy to spot for what it was. Are most real monsters like that?"  
  
“Well… no,” Dean admitted, somewhat reluctant. “Some are, but the rest… Werewolves blend in until the full moon, when they wolf out and start eating hearts. Shapeshifters and doppelgängers can imitate someone’s appearance, down to that hidden birthmark that no one’s ever seen before…” Dean sighed. “Some of them even get your memories when they do. We got lucky that the one who stole _my_ face couldn’t, or Sam wouldn’t have made it out of that case alive.”  
  
The list of monsters Dean was familiar with had grown since he met back up with Sam, so long ago. “Witches you already know about. Demons can steal bodies.” He held up his hand, fanning out his fingers. “Sam’s adopted dad Walt made us anti-possession rings to keep demons out. One less thing to worry about.” Shaking his head, Dean sighed. “The list goes on. Living in the modern world means the monsters have adapted. That lich probably had to stay hidden in the wilderness since his body rotted away so long ago. Those wolves were its only way of reaching out. Good thing it didn’t take any people.”  
  
Bowman's hands shook as he preened his wings, and the quivering translated into the green membrane. Bad enough that there were monstrous humans out there. Any one of them could be actual _monsters._ "Good thing it had its search all wrong. It took _months_ to fix the place where it was lurking with those wolves."  
  
"That place was so so sick," Rischa agreed. A few nestlings had dozed off, either on the cloth allowed them in that cage or with their heads resting on Rischa's lap.  
  
She had been at the fore of the efforts to heal the forest after the undead intruder. Her hands twitched as the memory of the trees and plants all but crying out for relief echoed in her head. She clasped her hands in front of her to still them.  
  
"I am ready to try Praying some more," she decided. "He's not coming back, so I have some time."  
  
“Bowman first,” Dean said instantly in response. Pain or not, he didn’t want her strained trying to heal all his injuries. She was the only one in the group with that magic; they needed her to keep up her strength. “His wings need it more than I do.”  
  
Bowman scoffed. "You better not push yourselves too hard. Either of ya."  
  
Rischa's smile was small and sad, but she didn't offer Dean or her cousin any arguments. It didn't take her empathic gift to know they wouldn't budge. "I'll do my best to make sure you can at least rest comfortably before... tomorrow."  
  
While the murmured Prayer started up again, Bowman fanned his wings and fixed a stern look on Dean. He only hoped the human could see it from there. "You've been hurt, too. You don't need to just weather _all_ of it, y'know."  
  
Dean tried to brush Bowman off, turning away from the sprite. “I’ll be fine,” he insisted again. “I’ve had worse before, and without anyone around to help me. You need your wings working if we want to try escaping again. We all know _I_ won’t be flying out of here on my own.”  
  
Tucking his arms close, Dean let himself slump. “You should get some rest,” he said, all the strain and stress starting to catch up with him. “There’s no telling what’ll happen tomorrow. We all need to keep up our strength.”  
  
Bowman frowned, unconvinced. Dean was one tough human, but he'd already been abused a lot by the scientist keeping them prisoner. The man was harsh with Bowman as well, but he could tell he was holding back. Keeping his "specimen" in good shape. Dean received no such mercy.  
  
Bowman shot Rischa a glance, but her eyes were closed and her mouth moved without sound. He couldn't risk breaking her concentration while she was so worn out, but he could hope she was helping Dean in spite of his insistence otherwise.  
  
He needed it. He'd _earned_ it.  
  
"Right. We all could use some rest after ... after that," Bowman said instead. He fanned his wings to get the nestlings' attention. "You all lie down and stay close to one another, okay? Tomorrow's another day, another chance, right?"  
  
Vel scooted to the wall of the cage to grip the bars. "Yeah," he replied. His own wings lifted as high as he could before they fell limp once more. "Maybe tomorrow."  
  
Dean nodded, his gaze distant. He didn’t react when he felt the familiar healing touch work on him, soothing away more of his pain and restoring the energy he’d lost fighting back against the scientist.  
  
Now he knew how Sam felt, trapped by those people back when Dean was trying to find him. Small. Insignificant. Helpless to stop them, _knowing_ they didn’t care one bit about the people they had trapped. Reliant on Dean’s rescue after Sam’s arm was broken.   
  
_We’ll get out of here,_ the rapidly dwindling spark of optimism in Dean insisted, but his only reaction to it was to turn from the sprites and curl into a ball, ignoring any bit of hope that was in him.  
  
It wasn't long before Rischa's Prayer ended with a quiet gasp, like something had hit her stomach. She was out of breath and her eyelids were heavy. It didn't take much more convincing from Bowman for her to curl up with the other nestlings to rest after a long day.  
  
Even then, she hummed to the others with her gentle voice. Rischa focused the most on what she could read from Bowman and Dean. They might put on brave faces, but she knew better than the others how much the failed escape wounded their pride.  
  
She drifted off to sleep before she was sure if they had first, a child overworked by her gift.  
  
With or without her care, it would be a long night for them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next:** September 27th, 2020 at 9pm.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	34. Hamill, Mark

Sam's surge of optimism kept them afloat as they returned and laid out new plans. In the end, Jacob didn't get much use out of the laptop before Sam, much more the expert, took over. He'd come up with another list for Jacob to track down if he wanted to look the part, and there was no way Jacob would argue.  
  
He switched back to his usual clothes and drove his own car for the second round of errand-running. The less he hot-wired Dean's precious Impala, the better.  
  
He bought a professional-looking notepad and a nice pen, ready as he could ever be to pretend he was a reporter. A small camera found its way onto the list, another prop for the act as well as a way to get Bobby better info if they found anything. He also picked up some supplies that looked suspiciously like they'd eventually become makeshift lockpicks.   
  
It all rang up on the faked _Hamill_ credit card, per Sam's insistence. This way, he could roll his huge wad of cash back to its hiding place, and Jacob's wallet could survive the case as well.  
  
By the time he returned to the room, supplies and some food he'd thought of at the last minute in hand, he noted his errand-boy status. Errand boy for a monster hunter that fit in his pocket. After going through the day with a thin layer of worry under everything he did, he couldn't refrain from a smirk.  
  
Knocking twice, Jacob entered the room and diligently scanned the floor before the table. "Any news?"  
  
Sam waved at the phone. “Bobby texted!” he called up, barely glancing at Jacob. His knack told him enough that he didn’t need to see what Jacob was up to.  
  
Surrounding Sam, his journal and the notebook Dean usually used were both covered in scribblings, all done in lightweight handwriting, very indicative of who was the culprit. Sam had done his best to make it readable for Jacob when he was taking notes earlier that day, with the second copy in his journal so he could peruse at leisure without worrying about flipping pages that could make a tent for him.  
  
“The symbol is the sigil of _Hismael,_ ” Sam informed him. “The demon of acquisitions. If you can strike a bargain with him, it’s possible to use his power to summon whatever you need-- and it looks like our bad guy is using him to summon people, for reasons unknown.”  
  
Sam had a reassuring smile, his eyes reflecting sadly back at Jacob. “This means we know they were alive wherever it sent them, and now we just have to find where it goes, and _who’s_ casting the spell.”  
  
Jacob's eyebrows went up and he wandered to the table, the spoils of his errands forgotten. A spark of hope lit in his eyes with the reassurance that, wherever Bowman and Dean and the other sprites had gone, they'd gone there _alive._  
  
Jacob didn't know much about the weird magic they were dealing with, but he had a feeling their unseen kidnapper could have chosen a different symbol if he didn't care whether the victims lived. It mattered.  
  
He glanced over the notes Sam had written out and nodded to himself. Some of it didn't make sense, but it was a more solid answer than anything else they'd come up with so far.  
  
"I guess it'd be a bad idea to try to ask the demon himself," he noted.  
  
Sam winced at the idea. “Unless you’re looking to practice black magic, I’d advise against it,” he said dryly. “And getting a demon to answer questions is a whole different problem to tackle. I wouldn’t want to do it without Bobby or Dean on hand to help contain it.”  
  
There was little doubt in Sam’s mind that even with the help of the Key of Solomon, they would have difficulty keeping a demon in place. Jacob was an amateur, and Sam wouldn’t put him at risk in such a venture.  
  
Waving at the laptop screen, which was open to a collection of similar sigils and their attached demons, he went on. “Demons will do what you summon them for, but it isn't free. Witchcraft requires you to promise yourself to eternal servitude when you begin practicing. Normal people can sell their souls to demons for a one time deal, often asking for things they _think_ they want more than anything-- money, fame, that sort of thing, but someone willing to _work_ with demons can get a lot more.”  
  
Sam sighed. “Unfortunately, it often comes at a cost, depending on how the spell was cast.” He could remember a case with Dean where they’d found bloodied animal parts scattered around the house, used in arcane rituals and summons. It made him faintly sick, and turned Dean green.  
  
Jacob winced, an echo of Sam's own expression. They still didn't have an answer for _why_ someone would put so much effort into this. To go as far as making a deal with a _demon_ \-- Jacob could picture his devout Catholic mother's flustered reaction-- meant they were dead set on something.  
  
Hurting the sprites, like the hunter that Jacob knew? Or maybe something more like that lich that Sam and Dean fought against, earning their own passage in Wellwood's history archives.  
  
"Well ... it's something." He nodded at the other symbols Sam had pulled up on the screen. "If we find something pointing to any one of those, we might get closer to our guy. Those other ... demons ... probably run with this Hismael."  
  
“Right,” Sam nodded. “When we’re checking out this guy tomorrow, we’ll keep an eye out for any symbols. Especially Hismael’s.”  
  
He didn’t say that if they didn’t find anything, they might end up back at square one. Looking for symbols, possibilities in the news, searching a statewide haystack for some very tiny needles. Not to mention…  
  
“I just hope Dean’s in one piece,” Sam said. “He’s not the type to go quietly. If they took him, he’d fight back, no matter the cost, and if he _lost…_ ” Sam saw their father’s pyre in his mind’s eye, hoping he wouldn’t repeat the scene within a week of losing John.  
  
Jacob didn't want to entertain that line of thought any more than Sam did. He shook his head, though there was an unsure gleam in his eyes. "They probably just ... got him by surprise. He'll fight."  
  
He tried for a faint smile. "Bowman'll fight as much as he can, too. When those guys attacked Wellwood a few years back, they drugged him and he _still_ ended up getting up to fight. I think Dean seems like the same kinda person."  
  
“Dean could pick a fight in an empty house,” Sam replied promptly, the image in his mind bringing a smile to his face despite everything else. “All bluster and sarcasm on the outside. You can _imagine_ how well our first meeting with Bowman met. When those two butt heads, they _really_ butt heads. We’re lucky they actually worked together and didn’t just sit there, glaring at each other the entire time.”  
  
Jacob snickered. Knowing Bowman, at least, he could imagine they might have taken _days_ to get along without Sam's influence around. The sprite was stubborn about everything he encountered, sometimes just to have something to argue about, and sometimes to cover up his nerves about something else.  
  
Wherever Bowman was now, he was fighting. Jacob knew it. And he was probably keeping Dean focused, too.  
  
"Who knows. They might be bickering their way out of trouble as we do the research on our end."  
  


* * *

  
After their talk, Sam was glad to settle into the food Jacob had brought back. It was a far cry from what he could find on his own, picking through discarded trash, lost crumbs and forgotten items on the floor to scrounge together a good meal. Living with Dean had opened up his possibilities to a much healthier diet.  
  
Sam made sure to ask Jacob if it was okay before he took any of the food. He’d grown accustomed to sharing with Dean, but knew it wasn’t normal for people to regularly share a meal with someone, especially someone who was almost a complete stranger.  
  
The food wasn’t the scalding hot temperature of something right off the stove, but the warmth that filled Sam at his first bite made him “Mm,” in satisfaction.  
  
Jacob couldn't help but notice a few things. Sam's caution around the food wasn't the same as a sprite's; where Bowman might simply be worried about falling in, Sam was just trying to stay out of the way. He never even went for any of the food they'd shared so far before asking.  
  
Something he'd said that morning rose up on a memory and nagged at the back of Jacob's mind. He didn't want to pry and make Sam nervous, but his curiosity wouldn't go away.  
  
"So, uh, Sam," he began, already wondering if he should ask. "You ... you mentioned earlier that you didn't get a lot of warm food before. Why's that?"  
  
The words hung in the air after he said them, and Jacob slouched self-consciously. "Just. If you don't mind me asking."  
  
Sam put his food down, momentarily caught off guard by the question, but not overly surprised to hear it. Honestly, what surprised him the most was how long Jacob had taken to ask, compared to most people they met.  
  
“I don’t mind,” he said with a small smile. “I came to terms with it a long time ago.”  
  
Sam took a moment to reflect on all the events that had brought him, and Dean to this point. From being cursed to being reunited with Dean, calling Bobby for the first time and meeting a kid who _wasn’t_ dangerous. Cases upon cases, many that would never know that a four-inch man named Sam Winchester had helped them.  
  
“It’s a long story,” Sam warned Jacob, his eyes warm.  
  
Jacob nodded, the spark of curiosity in his eyes growing now that it was allowed to. He'd heard only some of Sam's adventures, the ones in Wellwood itself. He'd wanted to hear this story since he heard there was a "sprite-sized human" out there.  
  
He rested his chin on his folded arms, giving Sam his full attention. "I'm all ears, if you're up for telling it."  
  
Sam shifted so he was sitting more comfortable on the table, and took a drink from the bottlecap Jacob had filled for him. “I’m not sure what Bowman got the chance to tell you,” he started, “but Dean’s my brother. My _real_ brother, older by four years.”  
  
It was one of the more outrageous claims Sam could make. Him, all of four inches and weighing less than four crayons, was related _by blood_ to Dean Winchester, one of the most dangerous hunters around. Sam and Dean both had been called liars for that claim, right to their faces.  
  
But not by Walt, and not by Bobby, and they were the ones that really mattered.  
  
Sam’s eyes were faraway now. “We lost our mom when I was only six months old, so my dad hit the road with us. He wanted to find what killed her, and became a hunter because of it. Dean… he grew up fast. He never said a thing, never complained, but I can tell now that it put a strain on him. He was supposed to look out for me, and well…”  
  
His voice grew distant. “When I was ten, we were attacked by a witch. Dad was tracking her down, and she found us first. Broke into our room, tossed Dean into the wall like he weighed _nothing,_ and then hit me with a curse.  
  
“I didn’t come to for a week, but I found out that she’d cursed me to live my life at this size. I might be dead now if there weren’t other people my size around. A man and his wife, Walt and Mallory, dragged me out of that room before I got caught up in the fight. Dad got back before the witch could curse Dean, and so… He stayed normal. I didn’t.”  
  
"Woah," Jacob muttered, letting the information settle in his mind the best he could. Even knowing about the sprites couldn't really prepare him for the revelations Sam had in store for him. To spare more shock, he was determined to simply accept the information now and mull it over after the story was told.  
  
"So you ... had to stay there for a while," he surmised, connecting the dots as they'd been laid out. "How long?"  
  
“I was cursed in ‘93,” Sam recalled. “Then I didn’t see Dean again until ‘05.”  
  
He didn’t go on right away, pausing to take a few bites of his food and wet his throat. Though he barely noticed anymore, it did take work to talk so much to someone so large. Sam had to raise his voice for them to make out everything he said, and they had to lower theirs to avoid hurting his ears. Just another of the differences between him and Dean now.  
  
Once Sam was done drinking, he set his cup to the side and went on. “By contrived coincidence, Dean was sent to work a case in the town I was trapped in,” he said.  
  
This brought back more recollections, but this time from the more recent fight with Celeste. The revelations it had brought to light about Dean’s fateful trip back to Haven.  
  
 _Just another way of using you, my_ dear _Dean. Did you never wonder? Did you never ask? Why would some simple witch want to shrink people?_  
  
Sam shook the cobwebs out of his mind, focusing back on Jacob’s question. “I… ran into him when I lost track of time in a motel room,” he said ruefully. “Walt always said I was going to get myself in trouble, but _Godzilla vs. Mothra_ was on and I stayed out in the open a few minutes too long.  
  
“Lucky for me, Dean might have _looked_ different than when we were kids, but he hadn’t changed inside. He caught me, I spotted the amulet I gave him and realized who it was, and in his shock he just let me go. It was a while before I came back. You humans are a lot to take in right off the bat, and he was the first _normal_ person I’d talked to in over a decade, but I don’t regret it.” He stared down at the table under him. “Dean’s the best man I know, and it doesn’t _matter_ how big he is. Never did, no matter what he thinks.”  
  
Jacob nodded the best he could with his head resting on his arms and offered Sam a faint smile. "It's a good thing he found you, even after all that time," he murmured.   
  
There was a new perspective on Dean's attitude. He was protective of Sam, not just because he was small and vulnerable. Dean probably didn't have any reason during those long years to think his brother was even _alive._ To suddenly find him hiding away in a motel, so much smaller than he was supposed to be, would be the ultimate shock.  
  
Dean worked so hard to keep Sam safe because he'd _lost_ him for all that time. If Jacob found someone that important to him again, he might be just as watchful.  
  
"And now you guys run around fighting monsters," he mused, cracking a grin.  
  
“Everyone needs a hobby,” Sam shot back without missing a beat, a wry grin to match Jacob’s. “Like I said, I came to terms with this a long time ago. I have no problem working this way, even if it means I fight monsters the size of Godzilla. Dean has his strengths, and I’ve got mine. We’re a team.”  
  
Jacob would be the very last person to argue. He'd seen what people Sam's size were capable of, and that was among _pacifists._ The wood sprites didn't want to harm what they didn't have to, but they could bring the fight when they _needed_ to.  
  
"It's kinda badass, all this stuff," he admitted. Just the errands from the day had given him a rush. "I can't imagine what it takes to go into stuff like that all the time like you do. I can see why the sprites made sure to get that business with the lich all written down."  
  
Sam’s eyebrows went up, Jacob’s mention sufficiently distracting him from any other topic. “Wait… you mean they actually _wrote_ about what we did? About _me?_ ”  
  
Never, in his life, had Sam expected to be remembered in any form. Sure, on a few cases he got to show his face, and Bobby and Dean knew all about his contributions, but when it came down to it, Dean tended to overshadow anything Sam did just because of his size. It was never on purpose, but the result was that Sam wasn’t _memorable_ the way his older brother was.  
  
"Dude, of course they did," Jacob replied. "You helped save their village. They have these archives in their main tree, I hear, and they write their history in there." Jacob, of course, had never seen the archives himself. He was far too large for the passages winding through the tree, and he doubted Bowman would be able to take a decent picture if he sent him with a phone. "You're definitely in there, Bowman made sure of it."  
  
Sam was enamored at the thought as he listened, a slight flush in his cheeks to hear that Bowman had put work into remembering _him._  
  
 _Just doin’ my job,_ Sam heard in Dean’s voice, and understood it a little better today.  
  
Looking down to hide his blush, a part of Sam itched to go and see the writings in that tree. The history of the sprites… It sounded like any scholar’s dream.  
  
“I hope I get to see it one day,” Sam said.  
  
Jacob couldn't help a faint smile. "You're more likely than I am to ever see," he mused. "When I first found out about them, Bowman couldn't quit taunting me about not being able to fit. You could be the first non-sprite to see the Archives."  
  
He glanced to the screen of the laptop. The demon symbols remained, glaring out from the white background with their brief captions explaining what each was for. Jacob had to hope that, whenever he did go to Wellwood next, he'd have the missing sprites with him. He didn't want to have to bring back bad news, but at least he had Sam helping him unravel everything. Self-conscious about his size or not, Sam definitely deserved his spot in the wood sprites' history.  
  
“At least you won’t be alone in not fitting,” Sam smiled, following Jacob’s gaze. “Dean isn’t about to fit in _any_ of their homes either…”  
  
He trailed off, looking at the screen with Jacob. “You know,” Sam said, “I was reading up on Hismael earlier. It seems like it takes up a lot more power to teleport anything large. The smaller it is, the easier the job. So they must have been desperate to get Dean out of the way… and that might be why they haven’t tried taking either of us since.”  
  
Jacob frowned. If that was true, then Sam could still be in danger later. If whoever it was recharged enough after taking Dean, they could come for Sam again. "I guess that gave us a grace period," he said, finally sitting up straighter now that storytime was over.  
  
Ignoring the crick in his neck, Jacob glanced over the information they had. "Would there be a way to, like, shield ourselves from it? In case he tries again. Can't exactly do any interviews tomorrow if one of us vanishes. Will the salt be enough?"  
  
Sam thought carefully about it. “Salt can keep someone from getting _in_ ,” he mused, “but I don’t think it can stop scrying.”  
  
A memory of Dean, talking about his hunts before they reunited, came slowly back to Sam. One where Dean had first tried to find the missing John Winchester. Dean might have been twisted with betrayal and abandonment at that time, but his instincts and awareness remained just as sharp as always.  
  
 _Salt and cat’s eye shells… he was definitely worried._  
  
“Cat’s eye shells,” Sam parroted Dean’s words. “Used to stave off the ‘evil eye.’ Works against…” He huffed in amusement. “The enviousness, jealous and covetous. It’s a protection charm, a sea-snail with a unique shell. Dean has some in the trunk, tucked in the false bottom with a few other charms. Might not fit today, but… it’s as good a bet as anything else we have.”  
  
Jacob nodded, dutiful as ever. "I can run out and grab those real quick, just to be sure," he offered. "Then I guess we oughta get back to it."  
  
True to his prediction, they dove right back into research after Jacob retrieved the protective charms. They whittled away at the warm food as they worked, keeping up their energy while they looked through lore (Sam dealing out assignments to Jacob for things to look for). Occasionally another brief lesson in hunter skills would crop up.  
  
Determination drove them to work well after the sun set and the curtains over the window darkened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're on the case and not giving up!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** September 30th, 2020 at 9pm.


	35. Blood Drawn and Taken

This time, the nightmares were indistinct.  
  
They roiled beneath Dean’s eyelids, keeping him from a deep sleep. Recurring themes drifted past… him, unable to save Sam. Celeste taking his freedom away, trapping him in a body he couldn’t use. Faceless humans that took the sprites, that took _Sam,_ and trapped them, used them, broke them.  
  
Curled into a ball next to the silver dish of food, Dean’s eyes flashed from side to side under his eyelids, stuck in the constant nightmare of his life.  
  
One particularly intense dream struck, the kind that would have him on his feet with a gun in his hands, and Dean flinched to the side. He bumped his head against the side of the food dish, scrambling back in confusion as he blinked at the curved metal barrier.  
  
The room around him was quiet, and the ringing sound hung ominously in the air. They were still all trapped in cages suspended from a dusty ceiling in a grimy work room. Dean was still alone. Across a wide distance like a canyon, the nestlings slept on in their own cage, cuddled together for warmth and companionship. That, it seemed, was a mercy that Dean and Bowman hadn't earned from the scientist holding them all captive.  
  
In the third cage, a curled up green lump rolled over with a groan. Bowman winced as he woke and the soreness in his wings came creeping back in his awareness. The wing that had rested over him stretched straight up in the air until it brushed the top of the cage.  
  
It jerked back and he sat upright in one jerky motion that had no sign of his grace and skill in the air. "Oh, Spirit," he mumbled, covering his face with his hands. Too fast. He was lightheaded.  
  
He mumbled more into his hands, and if Dean could hear it he'd probably recognize some of the colorful sprite swears Bowman kept sharp. That done, he dragged his hands down his face and scanned the room. Finding Dean apparently awake, he fanned a wing open in greeting.  
  
"I think I'm going to have to complain about the accommodations," he quipped, exhaustion clinging to every word. "Something about them is making my back sore."  
  
Dean huffed, rubbing his forehead ruefully and blinking away the splitting headache. Aside from a few aches, the pain in his chest and legs was almost completely gone from the night, leaving him with the headache and the new lump upside his head from the wakeup.  
  
“I’ll write in with ya,” he said, grumbling. “Maybe two letters in the complaint box will be more effective than just one.”  
  
Standing, Dean had to put a hand against the bars to catch his balance, the toll from the day before catching up to him and leaving him unsteady on his feet. “It certainly is no five-star bed and breakfast,” he griped.  
  
Bowman shook his head. Dean's last quip didn't make any sense to him from what he knew, but just the attitude was enough. "No," he agreed, hoping to slide past any confusion before it took hold. On another day, he might have asked what it meant. Now, they had more important things to think about.  
  
"I can't tell where the sun is," he complained, leaning against the wall of his cage by propping his arms through the bars. It was an all too familiar pose, from years ago and the first cage he spent time in.  
  
It was too much to hope he'd never end up in another one, he supposed. "Do you think we have time for me to try the lock again?"  
  
Dean looked towards the window, wishing for a better gauge on daylight, when he remembered. He was still wearing his watch. Downsized and barely the size of a grain of dirt, it continued ticking away. Whatever parts it ran off of weren’t affected by the size change at all, something he was gratified by.  
  
“It’s just past six,” Dean read off the screen before letting his arm drop. “Do you remember what time _he_ was up yesterday?” It occurred to Dean that they’d never once caught the man holding them captive’s name. He was a faceless villain, as he should be after the horrors he’d committed. Kidnapping children. Torturing innocents. Turning to the darkest magics in a bid for power.  
  
It would make tearing his throat out that much easier if-- _when_ \-- Dean got the chance.  
  
Bowman paused to think, and then groaned tiredly. It was still so soon after he woke up, and stress or not, he was slow in the mornings. He doubted the scientist would be bringing them coffee to help them, either.  
  
"I don't ..." he trailed off, rubbing at his eyes. They were dry and sore. "Too much happened yesterday." The lament was weighed down by the memory of their failure. He couldn't help the nestlings escape and he hadn't been able to keep Dean out of harm's way, either. They were lucky neither of them had come away with broken bones.  
  
"Maybe he'll be tired, Birdie did say he was worn out from magic," he offered up hopefully. To put action to words, Bowman dragged himself to his feet and looked at his hands, missing the knife from where he'd stowed it in the scarf at his waist before he lost it.  
  
He marched to the door and stopped. _If I go, maybe I can find help myself before anything really bad happens._ He glanced across at Dean again.  
  
If he left and the scientist found out, the man might just kill the shrunken hunter right then and there. His hand lowered to his side.   
  
If Dean had known what was on Bowman’s mind, he would have insisted on escape. He would have pressed the issue, made sure that the sprites found their way to safety _somehow,_ even if it meant Dean not making it.  
  
If he'd known.  
  
As it was, Dean splashed some water on his face. “Whenever you think you’re ready for it,” he said, looking at Bowman’s wings in worry. They would need Bowman at full strength to have any hope of getting anywhere safe. Dean was a liability in this situation, without the size he used to his advantage on normal hunts, while Bowman was the asset that could carry the others to safety. “We need to get the others out as soon as possible.”  
  
Bowman glanced across at the other cage again. The nestlings didn't stir. After the day before, they were too exhausted to wake early. Even Rischa showed no signs of movement except for breathing, obscured as she was under the younger sprites resting on her.  
  
He only wanted them all to be safe. He didn't want to think about what the price might be.  
  
Bowman glared up at the lock, and it taunted him. He knew how to get it open. He could try. If he was quick (and he _knew_ he could fly faster than the scientist could sling spells at him), he could make it somewhere. Find a telephone, and ... the imaginings faded like smoke. Without Dean's knowledge, Bowman would just get caught again, and maybe by a different human. Then they all might as well be dead.  
  
He sighed and started the climb up to the lock. He could get himself uncaged, and then worry about the next step. If he had to drag Dean down to the ground again, he would.  
  
He stretched and strained. The tip of his fingers had barely touched the first tumbler of the lock when there was movement beyond the door. Floorboards creaking, footfalls landing. Bowman froze and eyed that door. He couldn't risk starting the day with someone getting hurt in the scientist's ire.  
  
"Blast it," he spat, hopping down from the cage door. "Maybe he's just bringing food and he'll leave again."  
  
The footsteps approached, intensity growing in the room like static before a storm. It drew Rischa out of sleep with a startled gasp as the man's malice closed in on the room where he kept his prisoners.  
  
Bowman flared his wings in time for the door to open. "Heard your clumsy walking from a mile away," he jeered.  
  
Rather than pay him any attention, the scientist entered the room and went instead to Dean's cage, glaring at him. "You're looking _well,_ " he pointed out, emphasizing the word like it was the most disappointing thing he'd discovered all week. "Did your pet help you out again?"  
  
“Haven’t you heard?” Dean asked, his attitude returning as he bristled at the man’s condescending sneer. He refused to let on how exhausted he was, staring down at the ice green eyes that were so close in color to his own. One day Dean would put the guy in his proper place, and that thought kept him going. “You can’t keep a Winchester down for long. Not with some measly little witchy magic. No healing needed from my _friends._ ”  
  
The man's mouth barely twitched. The cool facade remained, but for that small instant showing how annoyed he was with Dean. "I suppose we'll have to work harder today, then," he dismissed.  
  
He let the threat hang in the air and twist around Dean's cage like a snake. Turning away with one last glare, he made his way to the nestlings' cage. They moved sluggishly, some still barely awake, as Rischa herded them as far from the door as she could. "Don't whimper so much, I've no need for any of you today," he scolded them.  
  
It didn't stop them from inching away when his hands came near, opening the cage and filling their food container with more cuts of fruit. The usual routine, that the sprites who'd been there the longest knew well.  
  
Finally, he let them be and came over to Bowman. "Are you ready, prime specimen?" he greeted. "I advise drinking some water now. You'll need it."  
  
Bowman rolled his eyes but a shiver crept up his back. "Having fun with vague warnings? Y'know that really gets old fast, right?"  
  
The cold green eyes fixed on him and Bowman felt distinctly like the target of a predator. It was like a wolf was staring him down and deciding whether he'd be worth the energy to eat.  
  
After what he'd been through the day before, Bowman would almost prefer a wolf.  
  
The eye contact broke when the man unlocked the cage to refill Bowman's food and water as well. He narrowed his eyes at the scraps of dried meat that Bowman had refused to touch, but made no comment on them. Instead, he repeated his instruction from before. "Drink water and have some fruit while I feed the hunter. I'm taking blood samples and I don't want to have to feed you with a syringe but I will, if your sense of self-preservation is really so broken."  
  
Dean jolted at the implications of what the man was saying to Bowman. “ _Asshat!_ ” he hissed, grabbing the bars and glaring out of his cage. “Bowman, do what he says and _eat!_ Drink! You can’t be weakened if he takes blood! If he takes too much it could _kill_ you!”  
  
Narrowing his eyes at the scientist, Dean hit the bars of the cage, funneling his anger into that strike and wishing it was against the man. “You have no _idea_ what you’re doing! You won’t have much of a prime specimen left if you screw this up! All it takes is being off by _one drop_ at his size! I’ve spent enough time with my brother to know how easy that is!”  
  
The scientist watched Dean rage and let it peter out before finally opening up his cage door. He didn't waste time pinching new scraps of food for the shrunken human into the small dish, and made sure to nudge Dean harshly out of the way as he did. "I suppose if you're such an expert, you know you'd be wise not to distract me too much while I work, then," he said.  
  
Bowman frowned at the sight of Dean pushed around so easily. This was a man that had fought wolves, fought the _lich._ He held his ground against unnaturally strong monsters all the time. Now, even _Bowman_ might be able to knock him back a step or two.  
  
Still, after hearing the worry going off like alarm bells in Dean's voice, Bowman took his frantic advice. He didn't know how the scientist planned to _take his blood,_ but he knew what it could mean if his body wasn't strong enough for it.  
  
Jacob had nearly lost too much blood to recover, right in Wellwood itself. Bowman had seen so much of Jacob's life leaking out through a wound in his shoulder. More blood than any one sprite had in their whole body.  
  
His heart fluttered at the thought that he might have to contend with that soon. He grabbed a piece of fruit he didn't recognize and all but wolfed it down. He had to be ready. An opportunity to escape might come after it was over.  
  
"You're such a blasted waste of breath," Bowman jeered. The scientist smirked without turning his head back to the other cage. Anyone could have picked up on the fear underlining the sprite's voice, and the would-be sorcerer chose that moment to gloat at Dean for it.  
  
Dean couldn't stop this from happening to Bowman any more than the sprites could.  
  
Once the meager dishes were refilled, the cage door slammed shut and locked, and the whole thing was left swinging back and forth again as the scientist wandered back to Bowman. "Have you prepared yourself? This is, despite your dramatics, a fairly routine procedure and you don't even need to be lightheaded afterwards if you behave."  
  
Bowman glared at the man without a word in an attempt to let his silence bear more snark than any words could. He lost his nerve when the giant hand lifted into view. Heart fluttering, he knelt by the container of water in his cage, scooping up handfuls to drink it down while the cage unlocked with agonizing slowness.  
  
He didn't want this to be it. He didn't want to die of stubbornness and leave Rischa all alone.  
  
The hand eclipsed him. Bowman sputtered and writhed as it closed around his wings and body and dragged him out into the open once more. No matter how he thrashed, he couldn't escape that grasp, just like he couldn't have escaped Jacob's or Dean's hands.  
  
"That's it," the scientist encouraged with a smirk. "Higher blood pressure will help you in the long run."  
  
"Oh my _Spirit,_ just shut up, will you?!" Bowman snapped. "The only one that wants to listen to you is your blasted recorder thing."  
  
Dean held his arms close to his chest as it ached from the scientist’s jabs. Each day, the prodding fingers grew a little harsher, quicker to cause pain.  
  
Or maybe he was just weakening. Rischa could only heal so much. If they stayed here long enough, he might not be able to recover one time.  
  
“There’s nothing _routine_ about taking blood from a _sprite!_ ” Dean spat, angrily pacing the wall of his cage. “You don’t know how much he can safely lose, you know _nothing_ about their biology. Experimenting might get him _killed,_ and then you’re out a ‘specimen!’ ”   
  
The scientist glanced over his shoulder while he let Bowman work himself up in his hand. "And I suppose you're the expert," he taunted, one eyebrow lifting. "Don't worry. I'll try not to kill your pet."  
  
Rather than taunt Dean further, he waved a dismissive hand towards his cage and set it swinging back and forth just like the day before. Just enough for Dean to see over the edge of the floor to the drop below at the height of each swing.  
  
The scientist carried Bowman over to the workbench like before. Bowman heard the nestlings fussing and crying out in their cage, but his glare fixed unerringly on his captor.  
  
Once he sat down, the man moved his thumb so he could force it under Bowman's chin to prevent any bites. Bowman had to watch the ceiling or strangle himself. He didn't even have the courtesy of watching the human retrieve whatever supplies were needed to steal his blood from him.  
  
He blinked quickly to hold back his fear, while his chest heaved. The last scientist he'd dealt with had sharp blades designed for a fine cut. Bowman wondered if that was how it'd be done.  
  
Plastic clattered on plastic. One hand was evidently enough, because the scientist never pinned Bowman down to work.  
  
Bowman finally saw it come into view when the other hand lifted up into his field of vision. An orange plastic cylinder not even an inch long, the sight would have confused Bowman just like any other human contraption if not for the thin needle protruding out of one end.  
  
It was so thin, Bowman marveled that the human could even see it. "Don't bring that any closer," he warned.  
  
"So long as you behave, this will be fast and as painless as a pinch," the scientist told him. That cold voice said what the words didn't; he didn't really care if it caused pain. The needle lowered out of Bowman's sight, and the human lifted up an alcohol swab instead. Bowman knew what _that_ was from the time Jacob helped him with a cut on his arm.  
  
He wished he could go back to that moment. The terror then was nothing to now.  
  
The human fumbled at the sleeve of Bowman's shirt before huffing and shifting his grip so Bowman's arm was mostly trapped between two fingers. At best, Bowman could clench his hand into a fist. It didn't stop the man from coating his entire hand and wrist in alcohol. By now, Bowman was held mere inches away from the scientist's focused eyes.  
  
The needle returned. Bowman's heart seized in his chest. He couldn't budge his arm at all. He couldn't even see his hand beyond the giant finger in the way. There'd never be enough warning.  
  
He winced and let a small, pained noise escape. It _was_ like a pinch, but it was a deep, aching pinch, somewhere on the top of his hand.  
  
Fear and confusion made it impossible to tell where exactly the injury actually was. It was a tense ten seconds with the scientist barely shifting as he worked, but it felt like hours.  
  
Finally, the orange cylinder moved away, now darkened by the blood drawn into it through that needle. The scientist applied more alcohol to Bowman's hand, earning a delayed twitch of pain. Bowman had to squint to keep up with any of the gigantic motions. Sweat beaded on his forehead.  
  
"Didn't I say that would be easy," the scientist jeered, standing.  
  
Bowman blinked. "What?"  
  
He thought he heard a derisive chuckle, but could have imagined it. Moments later, he was back in his cage, swaying as much as Dean's cage. At least, it felt like that.  
  
He stared at the circular wound on his hand for an age. "Is he still here?" he asked out loud, not looking away from it. He worried he'd get dizzy if he looked at anything else.  
  
There was a shouting sound past Bowman’s perception, disjointed and fractured from blood loss. A distant sound that _should_ matter more than it did, fading in and out.  
  
“ _Bowman!_ ” Dean roared, trying to catch his attention. He didn’t pay any mind to the scientist, gone to finish his work with the blood, whatever the hell he wanted it for. The sprite stared into space, looking more strung-out than a druggie on a high and just as ignorant of Dean’s existence.  
  
Cussing under his breath, Dean grabbed a raisin from his pile of food, thus far untouched for the day. “You need to eat! Drink! You lost too much blood, you need your energy back!” Taking aim, he threw the raisin with all his might, determinedly aiming for Bowman’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's one thing Dean understands better than anyone, it's how weak losing blood can make you.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
>  **Next:** October 4th, 2020 at 9pm.


	36. Under Pressure

Despite the swaying of the cage and the way Bowman leaned awkwardly to keep his own balance, Dean's aim was impeccable. A marksman's skill carried the projectile across the gaping distance between cages like the knife only days before. It clattered against a bar before arcing down and striking Bowman's arm. If the bars weren't in the way, it would have hit its mark exactly.  
  
Bowman looked down at the raisin with a frown and drew himself slowly out of the stupor. Voices came to him at last, Dean's gruff orders, and Rischa's tearful begging.  
  
"Birdie," he said, looking up to find her clinging to the bars. He smiled shakily, brushing the cold sweat from his forehead. "Don't worry, Birdie," he assured her. "I'm okay."  
  
It was easy to say. He picked up the raisin in both hands, and then shot a critical look at Dean that was squintier than usual. "I've got some food, y'know," he scolded. "You should ... you gotta eat too." He tried to flare his wings for emphasis, but they merely dragged along the floor of his cage.  
  
“I have jerky, _remember?_ ” Dean said insistently. “Trust me, I can survive fine on what you don’t eat. _You’re_ the one that needs to eat, _now._ You’ve lost too much blood. Don’t make me throw more fruit at you.”  
  
To illustrate his point, Dean scooped up the dried meat that sat in his food dish, untouched. He made a face at the thick, chewy pieces, wishing for a tender cut. Eating jerky at this size was more like biting leather.  
  
Steeling himself, Dean bit into the hard texture, his mouth immediately flooded by the salt used to dry it. “See?” he called, his mouth full. “Got plenty. Now _eat._ ”  
  
Bowman huffed critically, but no matter how much he wanted to argue about something, there wasn't anything to dispute. He groaned and covered his eyes to rein in a dizzy spell. His wings hung more heavily from his back than the mood hung in the room. Shaking his head didn't help. It sent sparks across his vision.  
  
Half of him wondered if his wings were still there. A tingling numbness filled his limbs like sand.  
  
"Bowman, please eat something," Rischa called again.  
  
Bowman took a slow breath. He knew Rischa felt his lightheaded numbness as an echo of his ordeal. He didn't want to make her worry more. "Right." He nibbled at the dried fruit, wincing at the flavor and tough texture.  
  
"Ugh. Wish I had some honeycomb. Something easier than this ... dead berry."  
  
“So sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities,” Dean said, some of his dry humor returning with Bowman’s complaints. “But all I’ve got left to offer ya, _princess,_ is more dried fruit and some jerky. I can dip it in the water if you want to loosen it up a little.”  
  
Bowman shot him a glare. "Pray to a rock." At least, with banter slinging between them, they could cloak themselves in something familiar. Bowman and Dean, if left on their own, could argue the sun into the sky.  
  
"I feel really dizzy and I can't even tell if my wings are still on," he groused. The offended limbs lifted off the floor of the cage only to droop back down. "Is that how humans feel, too?"  
  
Dean shook his head. “They don’t take that much blood from people normally,” he explained with a wince. “And if they do, they have doctors on hand to monitor them and make sure they don’t go under. Eat and drink as much as you can. It should help get the blood flowing back to your wings. Until they start to feel normal, you need to take it easy. Pushing yourself will only end with you fainting or worse.”  
  
Bowman scowled up at the lock on his cage. It couldn't even be an hour ago that he was ready to break it open once more. Bowman's fingers wobbled just holding onto the raisin.  
  
His head ached. He grumbled something and scooted himself over to the water dish. "Not gonna _faint,_ " he determined, as if stubbornness alone could keep him awake.  
  
A handful of water splashed over his face, cooling the shock fever that tried to take hold. Dizziness remained and Bowman sipped at the next handful. "He must be getting desperate to figure out where our magic comes from," he mused. If Dean was this worried, there was a real chance that the blood draw could have killed Bowman.  
  
It left him weak. So weak that his wings felt like they were laden with rocks.  
  
“Desperate or not, there’s still a chance,” Dean said, coaxing Bowman to keep a hold on hope. Sometimes, hope was the only thing that kept people going.  
  
Dean knew what it was to live a life without hope, and he’d wish that fate on no one.  
  
Losing Sam had done that to him as a teenager, and afterwards he was just going through the motions. Keeping on just to keep on, putting one foot in front of the other. Saving a life here, killing a monster there, giving his meaningless life some point. It wasn’t until he discovered Sam in that motel two years back that he found out how _empty_ his life had become. Watching Sam rediscover the world, seeing his face light up when he tried something new, even something as simple as food that was out of reach previously, became what Dean lived for. And so hope had come back to him and he’d do anything to keep it.  
  
“Just keep eating,” Dean said, putting action to words before he had to pause and wash the salty residue of the jerky from his mouth. “Get your strength back. For Rischa.”  
  
At the mention of her name, Bowman glanced over to Rischa again. Guilt wormed into his gut. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and they could only be for him. She smiled anyway, a watery and fearful expression, but bright all the same.   
  
"It's okay, Bowman. You'll be fine, just do like Dean says and eat more. We all need our strength."  
  
Bowman sighed but didn't argue. He knew well that Rischa was hiding most of her own worries for the benefit of everyone else. The younger nestlings had no idea whether her smile was real, but he knew better. He picked some more fruit and blinked lazily as he nibbled.  
  
"And here I thought I could just have you nestlings carry my wings," he joked, raising an eyebrow. No need to leave Rischa alone with the task of comforting the little ones.  
  
They giggled. One girl pointed at Dean. "He's taller, he can do it!"   
  
Dean gave a start at the unexpected image in his head of him trying to _flap_ Bowman’s wings, and despite it all, a smile crept up on him. “Somehow, I doubt that would work,” he said dryly, now stuck with the idea of getting a piggyback ride from the slender sprite. “I’m heavier than I look. Maybe once I’m back to normal, I can give you _all_ a ride.”  
  
That was a nice image to hang on to. Letting all the nestlings and Rischa and Bowman sit in his hand, protected and safe from anyone harming them there. Something to do after he finally got to take a swing at the scientist and put him in his place.  
  
Vel grinned tiredly. "Yeah, we can all sit with Dean," he agreed. Normally, Dean's hands were big enough for multiple people to hide under them. The first time he ever came to the village, Vel had crawled underneath a hand and Sam had followed, and there was _still_ room for more people. The fond memories buoyed his mood.  
  
Bowman was just as eager to have Dean back to his rightful size. It wasn't terrible speaking to him on the same level, but ... there was a sense of _wrongness_ about the whole thing. Not like the Spirit dream.  
  
"I think anyone that can hold on should probably perch atop your head," he teased in an attempt to mask what he was thinking about. "Best place for sun."  
  
Dean sent Bowman a flat look for that one. “Just try it,” he griped, doing his best to look grumpier about the entire idea than he really was. Sitting on his head had to be the one thing Sam hadn’t tried yet, and Dean hoped his little brother didn’t get any ideas from the sprites. The last thing he needed was his hair getting messed up the way he messed with Sam’s constantly. Once it started, they’d never stop. That would just be his luck.  
  
“Mess with my hair and I’ll mess with yours!” Dean called challengingly across the way to Bowman, knowing just what his friend was doing and keeping the banter going to help the kids not dwell on their predicament.  
  
Bowman flicked his fingers at Dean dismissively to keep up the charade. His arm felt heavy, so he covered the motion by rooting around for more food to get more energy. "Don't worry, flowerkin," he teased, "No one's gonna mess with your look."  
  
That earned poorly concealed snickers out of the nestlings, with even Rischa covering her mouth with a hand. Vel crawled to the bars to grasp them and peer out.  
  
"Dean's not _flowerkin,_ " he argued. "Him an' Sam can be knights like my dad."  
  
“Whatever ‘flowerkin’ means, I’m betting you fit the bill ten times more than _I_ do!” Dean called across the gap, smirking at Bowman as he flipped around the jab. “Green hair, leafy wings, nice and lean like a flower stalk… You might just flutter off in the breeze the next time we’re outside. Me?” He leaned back against the cage. “I’m a ladies man.”  
  
Bowman glanced down at himself with a frown. For a sprite, he was as athletic as any patrolsprite. They were _all_ lean. He almost pointed that out, but even from a couple feet away he could see that Dean was stockier than most wood sprites. Just like Sam.  
  
Blasted humans had to be _cheating_.  
  
"Oh, of course," he said with a roll of his eyes. His body was exhausted from the tips of his wings to his very center, but slinging banter back and forth felt good. Better than anything else they'd experienced in those cages. "So if you ever meet an _actual_ flowerkin lady, you'll have no trouble. That'll be the day."  
  
"You just keep telling yourself that!" Dean called tauntingly. "Ask Sam. I can get any lady I try for. Never had much interest in anyone that fits in my hand though, sorry. Not really my thing. Maybe we can find Sammy a girl, the kid never had the chance to date anyone, between growing up with only a few people around and traveling with me now."   
  
Dean tried to never rub it in with Sam if he had a one night stand while out of the room, because Sam honestly had no options at all. Unless he wanted to go and live with the field 'borrowers' at Bobby's, since Sam had once mentioned how they had very different views on sleeping around. Stability was encouraged, making Dean's lifestyle seem so odd to them. Sam was more like Dean than anyone could see at first glance, but he wouldn't want to break some girl's heart who was expecting him to _stay_.  
  
Bowman, despite his sluggishness, was intrigued. Sam and Dean's life was entirely different from his own, and yet they all shared a certain determination. It was part of why it had taken so long for Dean and Bowman to see eye to eye about anything.  
  
He helped himself to more fruit, but inched closer to the side of the cage. He allowed himself some curiosity after everything.  
  
"So what's it like, being able to move your home with you wherever you go?" he asked. "That Impala car-beast, she _is_ your home, right?"  
  
Dean shrugged, his eyes distant. “Just… is. I was only four when we lost our home.” Normally, he wouldn’t consider talking about his past, but the sprites had gone through so much with him and Sam, and Bowman might be one of Dean’s only close friends, whether the sprite believed him or not. “Sam was a baby, but he got the chance to have a family again when he was cursed. Now, I don’t think either of us are really cut out for that apple pie life where you settle down and have kids. Hunting’s what we know.”  
  
Bowman's face twisted into a thoughtful frown. He had no idea what an "apple pie life" was, but didn't say it out loud. For once, it didn't feel right to sling a quip about weird human phrases around, not after Dean bared a part of his past that Bowman _knew_ had to be heavy. He'd ask Jacob about it later.  
  
If he got a chance.  
  
He didn't have time to force the disparaging thought away before an ominous creak reached his ears. He sat up, as alert as he could make himself. In the third cage, the nestlings, quiet for Dean's brief but somber story, all looked to the door.  
  
Bowman, however, looked up. The ceiling above them, made of dead wood cut into flat, blocky shapes, groaned under the weight of someone walking around up there.  
  
He couldn't hear much else until distinct footsteps wandered away above. The room fell quiet again, and then the footsteps returned. This time, they approached the door to the dim workroom.  
  
"Blast it," Bowman swore, dragging himself to his feet by clinging to the bars of his cage. "Was it too much to ask for more time?"  
  
There was no time for Dean to answer. The scientist only glanced over the sprites cages this time, focusing on Dean’s the moment he saw that everyone was present and accounted for, the children quailing back from his approach.  
  
“I have to say, _little_ hunter,” the man said in a heavy voice. “I quite like the idea of having a hunter as a pet. I look forward to having a matching set.”  
  
Dean snarled, bristling at the reminder that the man meant to make Sam his captive the moment he had what he needed from the sprites. “Over my dead body.”  
  
With a sneer, the scientist said, “Only if you insist.”  
  
Reaching for Dean’s cage, he swiftly opened the lock. Not expecting the change in routine, Dean didn’t react instantly, waiting until the man’s hand was nearly upon him before he came back to himself, instincts kicking in at the last second.  
  
Diving to the side, Dean barely managed to escape a swipe. “Go to hell!” he growled, knife back in hand.  
  
This only made the man smile in amusement. “The idea of all this is I _don’t_ go to hell for the magic I borrow,” he reminded Dean, then shoved a finger against Dean’s chest before he could get out of the way.  
  
The motion slammed Dean against the wall of the cage, the bars digging into his spine. He wheezed as the pressure increased in increments, unable to suck in a full breath.  
  
“Hmm,” said the man with a dispassionate expression. “I think I may just make this shrinking spell permanent once I get the magic I need. You’re quite entertaining while _contained._ ”  
  
Dean didn’t hear the end of that statement. The pressure against his chest grew to unbearable levels, his knife tumbling out of his hand as he could no longer focus on anything but the fight to stay alive. Something snapped inside, followed by two more breaks, and he blacked out.  
  
The scientist pulled his hand away as Dean went limp, his small chin hitting his chest and the rest of his body following it to the floor. Collapsing in a heap in the cage, Dean didn’t move or react as his cage was latched up, a satisfied smile on the man’s face.  
  
A beat of silence followed. Bowman, in his cage, watched with wide eyes and wished he was closer. From only a few feet away, he couldn't tell if Dean was breathing. He didn't stir at all.  
  
His answer came when Rischa screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More pressure than Dean can take...
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** October 7th, 2020 at 9pm.


	37. The Other Shoe Drops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for torture

Birdie's voice rang out in the room and filled every corner with pain and terror, and Bowman knew. The only reason she might wail like that was because she felt Dean's pain, or at least an echo of it, in her own chest. He was alive, but his injuries might be catastrophic.  
  
Alive, but they might not be able to keep him that way.  
  
Before the scientist could turn towards the nestlings' cage and pay closer attention, Bowman bellowed with as much rage and fear as he could. He didn't want the man finding out that Rischa's already-weakening cries were from true empathy and not fear.  
  
They had to try to protect her. Bowman knew somewhere within that Dean would do the same thing if their places were reversed.  
  
"You _snake,_ you foul rotting dung heap, wither where you stand!" Bowman swore. His heart pounded more than it should. Blood loss pounded in his veins, but he didn't relent. "What did you do?!"  
  
"Nothing I'm sure your healing won't fix, prime specimen," the scientist jeered. "But not until after we run another test."  
  
Bowman's cage swayed as the man's hands returned to unlock it. Bowman heard Rischa crying in the other cage, weeping while the other nestlings comforted her or tentatively called Dean's name. Bowman flared his sluggish wings to keep the scientist's attention all on him, but he needn't have bothered.  
  
Judging by the way he snatched Bowman up in a fist, he didn't suspect anyone else at all. "Tell me, that magic of yours must be ready to bubble over in your desperation," he said, holding out his hand towards Dean's cage. Bowman stared at the hunter's fallen form, and the silver knife glinting at him. Dean's collapse ensured that Bowman couldn't tell how broken he was.  
  
Bowman didn't answer. The snark left him as he took in that sight. The scientist, taking it as a sign, quickly rushed him over to the workbench instead.  
  
Just as always, he was fixed to the table. Bowman fought it the best he could, but his body was weak. His _heart_ wasn't in it. They could _lose_ Dean, whose only crime was being in the scientist's way.  
  
Bowman lifted his head and shoulders just enough to glance across the surface of the cleared table, but there was nothing new to see. As always, a bright light blared overhead.  
  
A giant hand reached out of the surrounding shadows to shift the lamp to the side. Bowman squinted and caught glimpses of the cages hanging from the ceiling of the cavernous, square room before the human loomed into view once more.  
  
Green eyes, laced with smug, cruel confidence, leered down at him. Bowman squirmed more, and the scientist smirked.  
  
“Must we do this dance every day?” he asked. Bowman’s heart fluttered from just the sound of his voice. He was bored.  
  
“Every dance gets better with practice!” Bowman shot back. Even though the man’s face filled his vision overhead, the sight of those cages hanging out of reach haunted his vision.  
  
A hand shot into view from the human’s side. Bowman flinched, but couldn’t avoid the extended index finger. The scientist pushed his face into the table, a rough fingertip against one side of his face and the cold metal against the other. He grimaced from the strain on his neck, but stifled his yelp of pain. He wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction so easily.  
  
“Then I guess I should teach you some new steps,” the scientist said in a biting tone, finally releasing Bowman from the pressure against his head.  
  
Bowman couldn’t ask what the human meant before a heavy box shape was set harshly on the workbench, not even a full inch away from the tip of his bound wing. The offended wing twitched, but as always he couldn’t fold it closer with the special clamps closed around it.  
  
The box was black, cased in plastic. A sticker covered with blocky human letters adorned the side, but had been torn half away. The remaining letters were so tiny, Bowman would actually be able to cover several with one hand. He stared at the box for a few seconds before noticing the two shapes protruding from the top of it.  
  
While he stared, drawers opened on the workbench, a familiar rumbling echoing beneath the surface. Bowman knew the routine by now. The human would retrieve a number of strange supplies to aid in his inexplicable experiments. Bowman struggled against his bonds, burning with anger.  
  
He was _helpless._ Even though the human was no closer to figuring out the sprites’ connection to the Spirit, Bowman couldn’t stop him trying. At least he never once suspected Rischa.  
  
Bowman could only watch as the human set up his latest tools, hands passing overhead and blocking the light for mere seconds at a time. Some strange cords with clamps were attached to the first blocky object and then to another machine. It was settled behind Bowman on the workbench; he could crane his neck and strain to see it, but he’d never gather enough details to know its purpose. Even if he _could_ see the whole machine, he doubted he’d understand it.  
  
“What is that stupid thing? Are you taking more pointless measurements today?” Bowman demanded, turning his bright green glare up at the human. He was met with indifference.  
  
“Today we see if I can’t coax that magic of yours out with a different approach,” the human said. “While the emotions are high.”  
  
A hand reached over Bowman’s head, and he could only watch the human’s sleeve while an unseen switch was pressed on the machine. A mechanical whine sounded somewhere behind Bowman, and a sudden tension slipped into the air. It reminded him of a coming storm.  
  
He wished it didn’t.  
  
A long instrument was in the human’s hand when it pulled back into view. It was as long as Bowman’s body, as thin as a pencil, and connected by a long wire to the machine. Bowman stared at the gleaming metallic tip of it incredulously. It almost looked _blurred._  
  
“Wh-what is that,” he asked, his voice wavery and weak. He hated the sound. That tool drew closer until the tip hovered an inch or two over his middle.  
  
It was _definitely_ blurred, from whatever energy buzzed through it.  
  
“Don’t bite your tongue, prime specimen,” the human warned. Bowman could barely form a confused expression before the human’s other hand reached in and pulled up the hem of his shirt. His middle was exposed to the cool air in the basement lab, and then the tool was gently lowered towards him.  
  
“What is-” Bowman’s question halted as the metal tip touched him.  
  
In fact, for a few terrifying seconds, it felt like _everything_ halted. Pain flooded into his body from that simple tool, a pain he’d never encountered before. His muscles seized up and he couldn’t even shout.  
  
The burning, intense feeling wrapped around his bones and left him with a hollow skeleton, a body that wasn’t his. A faint burning smell reached him, but he could only stare straight up in silent agony.  
  
He began to shudder. His wings, though strapped down, curled as much as they could, taking on the appearance of half-withered leaves. “Nnngh,” Bowman couldn’t make any sound as the strange energy from that machine rattled through him.  
  
And then the tool moved away and the tension fled Bowman’s body as quickly as it had been introduced. In its place it left sore muscles tingling with that energy. His belly stung where the instrument had touched; his skin was burned. Bowman panted and his eyelids fluttered.  
  
The scientist watched him, studied his every inch with a shrewd pair of eyes. A fingertip traced a symbol in the air, but this one didn't press Bowman down like before. Whatever it was, it was a different spell.  
  
"You're still hiding it," the man said. If Bowman wasn't close to blacking out, he might have thought he sounded impressed. "No matter. I _will_ discover the source of your magic."  
  
The clamps holding him against the table were removed, and a hand gathered him up. Bowman tried to struggle, but after that experiment, his body remained limp. All the way back to his cage, he was little more than dead weight in the scientist's hand. He doubted he'd even be able to catch himself with his wings if he fell.  
  
He was locked up once again, and the scientist rummaged around. Putting his tools away, setting things on shelves in the room. Occasionally, a vehement mutter reached Bowman's ears. And then, the man was gone.  
  
Not long after, Rischa's fervent, shaky voice called out in yet another Prayer. Bowman wanted to tell her to save her strength as much as she could, but the healing energy that trickled into him made all thoughts slide out of focus.  
  


* * *

  
It was a long time Dean spent in a black abyss, on the edge between life and death.  
  
There were no dreams, good or bad, to comfort him. Only darkness that stretched out around him in all directions. No Sam. No children to protect. The Impala long gone from his thoughts.  
  
Dean might have spent an eternity in this shadow, his life lost to him, but there was a persistent touch that refused to let him slip further down the slope. A light, a guide. As soon as his mind focused on it, he was yanked up, like a drowning man pulled out of the water into a helicopter. It broke him out of eons of pain, and consciousness flooded around him like the world’s brightest light.  
  
Gasping his way awake, Dean’s entire body burned with pain. From the white-hot spikes in his chest to the sharp pressure in his head, his brief sight of the cage blurred with unshed tears.  
  
Barely conscious, and not coherent, Dean struggled to remember why. Why was he in pain, what happened, where was Sam…  
  
The familiar thought gave him an anchor. Sam. His younger brother. He couldn’t let Sam down.  
  
Clinging to the memories of Sam, alive and well and out there searching for them, Dean shakily took one hand off his middle, blindly groping the floor around him. It was metal. So he was still in the cage. It had such a unique feeling to it. Like he could _tell_ the floor was thin and suspended above the gaping height that should be _his_ height. Proper-sized.  
  
 _I think I may just make this shrinking spell permanent once I get the magic I need…_  
  
Dean shoved the memory of the man’s words out of his mind. They gave him hope, but not the hope he needed right now. For now, he needed to focus on one thing at a time. Sitting up. That was a good goal. He could assess what was wrong with him.  
  
His hand strayed over something metal, sending it skittering over the floor when he bumped over it. _My knife. My_ silver _knife._  
  
Another anchor. Dean reached further, and this time his hand closed around the hilt. He was gaining strength. Warmth. Energy… Just like…  
  
Dean finally managed to pick his head off the floor, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his lips. Either he’d bit his tongue when going down, or he was worse off than he thought, and right now he couldn’t tell the difference.  
  
Rischa was Praying for him. Healing him, just like she’d done before.  
  
Blinking his eyes to clear the tears and trying to focus past the pound of his pulse in his head, Dean took in a deep breath, and then it stuttered.  
  
A red light blinked at him on the ceiling, one that he’d never seen before in this room.  
  
A camera. There was a camera watching the sprites and Dean, and it could see _everything._  
  
Rischa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bowman's doing his best to protect Birdie, but it's only going to work for so long...
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** October 11th, 2020 at 9pm.


	38. Shit Hits the Fan

“S-stooo...ohp…” Dean stuttered. He pushed against the floor again, ignoring the sharp bolt in his chest as he did so, one hand tenderly held around his ribs. “You can’t… I’m not worth it…” The words flowed easier now. Dean spat out the blood pooled in his mouth, and focused on anything but the pain. Whatever he had to do. “You need to _stop!_ ” he barked out, this time in a command.  
  
Reduced to a tiny fraction of his true size, Dean's voice still carried some weight with it. He didn't have giant height on his side, but his voice and his conviction came as starkly as a slap in the face. Rischa faltered and her exhausted golden eyes opened.  
  
The healing continued to trickle into the others, but Rischa pulled herself back from it. "D-Dean," she squeaked, her voice fearful and quiet.  
  
There was more fear dancing around him than she expected. While Bowman sluggishly propped himself up with his hands, the young girl tried to keep focus. She grasped the bars of her cage and attempted a smile. "Dean, you're gonna be okay," she promised. "I know it hurts but if you just wait a little while--"  
  
"What in the Spirit's dance is that thing up there," Bowman interrupted. He was tired, and filled from wing to wing with a different kind of pain, but his eyes were fixed on the thing on the ceiling.  
  
He'd seen a shiny black eye like that before. He knew what it could do. A camera like that had taken his likeness and nearly gotten every sprite in Wellwood locked away in cages. Some had been maimed for life, and one sprite had _died._ All because of a blasted camera.  
  
He glanced over to Dean and then to Rischa, and his breathing quickened. "Dean, that can't make our picture, can it? It doesn't see us. It _can't._ "  
  
“It can, it will, it _does,_ ” Dean ground out between his teeth, the hiss of pain accompanying every word. He took a deep breath to refocus, away from the clouds of pain that hung at the edge of vision. It was followed by several quicker breaths, having trouble with breathing in as much pain as he was in.  
  
The red light continued its steady blink, uninterrupted by them. Uncaring machinery just doing its job. Dean shot out an arm, pointing it out. “That light means it’s on and recording! It knows, and if he’s got it hooked up, he could be _watching us, right no_ \--”  
  
The door blew open so fast that it slammed against the wall and drowned out Dean's voice. Shrieks emitted from the nestlings' cage, and choked swearing from Bowman's. They had seen that man's silhouette in the door countless times already, but something about _this time_ was so much worse.  
  
He was _smiling._ A sickening, gloating grin, and it was fixed on Rischa.  
  
"To think I already _had_ a prime specimen before this loudmouthed thing fell into my hands," the scientist taunted. He sauntered into the room on casual steps. He had his prey cornered. He didn't _need_ to rush. He ignored Dean and Bowman's cages entirely.  
  
Rischa felt wave after wave of malicious triumph washing over her. She crowded to the back of the cage with the other young sprites, all clinging to her and looking to her for strength. The very same strength that the scientist was so glad to have found.  
  
Dean's pain and fear, and Bowman's rage and worry swarmed around her, too. Terror that wasn't even hers flooded past her defenses, and new tears sprang to her eyes.  
  
"P-please, don't," she whispered, though she could be talking to anyone. The pain of others was a burden she was chosen to bear, but she suddenly wondered if she _could._  
  
She couldn't move or breathe as the hands, so dangerous and unforgiving, lifted into view. No matter how much motion surrounded her, or how much Bowman cried out from his cage, Rischa was frozen.  
  
Vel stood in front of her where she sat. His half-withered little wings flared open as much as he could, but he couldn't hide her from view. Fingers bigger than his body shoved him aside with ease.  
  
A finger and thumb pinched around Rischa's waist and she squealed and tried to twist away just a second too late. The scientist's greed and lack of regard for the pain he caused came to her in stark clarity, but she couldn't do anything to get away from his touch and was drawn out into the open.  
  
"Look at this, little hunter," the scientist said, holding Rischa out towards Dean's cage. "Such a loyal little thing. I'll have to convince you to teach me your way with them. The books don't have any good information on sprites. One source says their magic is in their wings, another says it's beyond reach in another realm. And you've known all this time how to get to it."  
  
Dean snarled weakly, gripping the cage to pull himself more upright. “You sick son of a _bitch,_ leave her alone,” he growled out in little more than a whisper. “She’s done nothing to _anyone._ She's more innocent than any other person I've ever _met._ "  
  
He had to cut off, almost doubling over from the pain of that extended speech. Burning spikes in his chest consumed his thoughts, making him gasp at the air. Then, he gave the man another glare. "I'm no keeper of the sprites, just a hunter that knows _innocents_ when he finds them."  
  
The scientist didn't care for Dean's speech at all. He smirked, a gloating expression, and lifted Rischa up to his eye level to observe her kicking and twisting in his grip. Her cheeks shone with tears and her eyes were shut tight.  
  
"Innocent, yes, but _powerful,_ " the man mused. "If I hadn't interrupted, this girl might have fixed up those injuries of yours completely. What a _pity._ "  
  
"Stop it, just stop!" Bowman cried from his own cage.  
  
Rischa whimpered in time with the conversation, lost to the world as the emotions in the room ran high and crushed her own farther and farther within herself. She could hardly feel the air moving past as the scientist sauntered over to Bowman to taunt him next.  
  
"I'll let you take my magic," Bowman said desperately, all but lurching to the side of the cage. His eyes were fixed on Rischa as she struggled. "Just leave Birdie alone."  
  
The human smirked. "I think I'll have _both,_ " he decided. "Just as soon as this blessed little fairy gives me the information I need."  
  
He turned away from the cages despite Bowman making a racket with his wings and his voice. The eldest sprite, thought to be a "prime specimen,” was no longer as valuable as the sprite he pinched in his fingers. Rischa, barely ten years old, was helpless in human hands.  
  
She couldn't offer any resistance as the magnetic restraints were settled over her limbs, locking her in place on the work table. A bright lamp glared down at her, and she screamed.   
  
Dean’s shouts and Bowman’s raging clatter joined her screams, all ignored by the man in control of their fates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no more hiding for Rischa...
> 
> Posted early in case my allergy medicine knocks me out. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** October 14th, 2020 at 9pm.


	39. The End Has Come

Sam was barely able to stay in one place on Jacob’s shoulder as he glanced around at the surroundings outside the Impala. Pulling up, Jacob parked along the curb in front of an isolated house.  
  
“This is the place?” Sam asked, unable to contain himself.  
  
Jacob eyed the house dubiously as he put the Impala in park. The street to the house was around the bend from the neighbors, and most of the sidewalk was overrun with weeds and tall hedges that hadn't been tended to in a while. Trees reached over the road to form a green and gold archway.  
  
If the house and the plants were cared for just a bit more, it would look like one of those quaint properties that got onto the covers of magazines sometimes. As it was, it was the kind of place most people would walk faster to pass it by.  
  
"This is the address they gave us," he murmured in reply.  
  
Interviewing at the college had been an interesting adventure. Jacob couldn't count how many times he'd fumbled a line and had a tiny elbow jab into his chest. Sam had done his best to coach him in what little time they had, and the result was one of the most awkward conversations Jacob had ever had. At least the missing professor's TA had been more amused than leery.  
  
The guy was the only lead they had. After stumbling through the interview, Jacob had secured an address.  
  
 _Who knows,_ the TA, now swamped with extra duties, had said. _Maybe you'll find him there. Hope the weirdo didn't fall down the stairs or something._  
  
Jacob glanced at the rearview mirror. It was a sight he still wasn't used to, but there Sam was, perched on his shoulder. He made it look so casual.  
  
"Should I try knocking on the door? It kinda looks like no one's really been here in a while."  
  
Sam shook his head, an unusual urgency in him now that they were so close to their goal. “We might not want to warn him we’re coming,” he said. If he was the one large enough to drive, he’d already be out of the car and at the door. “If this guy’s behind everything, he already took _Dean_ out of the picture.”  
  
There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that if the person behind the disappearances knew they were coming, they’d have no trouble dealing with one hunter a few inches tall and one teenaged hunter-in-training.  
  
Glancing about, Sam noted the lack of security cameras on the outside of the house. Low security, middle of nowhere home. No neighbors to spot the pair of intruders.  
  
“There’s weapons in the trunk,” Sam said, his voice hushed by instinct. “We’re breaking in. If it’s the wrong place, great. If not, you need to be ready for anything.”  
  
Jacob nodded and his heart fluttered with a new wave of adrenaline. "Anything" could very well mean he was heading into a fight. There was a chance they wouldn't find anything in that old house at all, but if they didn't, it wouldn't be _Sam_ jumping into a fight.  
  
"Alright," he said, opening the car door with a creak of metal. He tried to make his voice more assured. "You just point me in a direction and I'll go."  
  
The arsenal in the trunk was just as unsettling as ever to behold. Weapons of all kinds waited there, glinting in the gloomy lighting. Jacob loaded up on the ones Sam pointed out to him. They chose silver bullets, a small knife to stash in his boot, and a flask of holy water. Jacob held up a handgun, feeling the weight and the cold metal, and paused.  
  
At least this time he was on the safe end of that weapon. A part of him wanted to throw the thing down and get out of there, but he steeled his nerves.  
  
Bowman, Rischa, and the other sprites were counting on him _not_ to hesitate.  
  
"Okay," he breathed, stashing the gun in the back of his pants like Sam had mentioned. He could hide it with the hem of his jacket that way and it would be ready for him to draw at a moment's notice. It was as prepared as he'd ever be, and he closed the trunk with a slam to make his approach.  
  
The overgrown walkway up to the house crunched with dried leaves and vines. Jacob scanned the windows on the façade, but all were curtained. The basement windows, nearly hidden behind piles of leaves, were boarded up behind the glass.  
  
"For an award winning professor this guy definitely takes 'reclusive genius' literally," he muttered. The joke was heavier than he wanted it to be; the mood wouldn't let him try to make any light.  
  
He reached out and tried the handle of the front door, just in case. It didn't budge. "Figures."  
  
The glass in the door was darkened, but there was enough shine left in it to see their reflections standing there. Jacob glanced to the tiny shape on his reflection's shoulder, wondering what to do next. "Picking the lock?"  
  
Sam nodded, forgetting Jacob might not see the slight motion in the dark. For his eyes, the world was crystal clear. A lifetime’s worth of living in the darkness of the walls at _Trails West_ left him with better night vision than most night vision goggles.  
  
“Pick it,” Sam commanded, then hesitated. They hadn’t had much time to go over picking locks, and as Dean put it when he taught Sam, it was a skill learned by feel and practice than by words. “Or did you want me to take care of it? You can switch off with me and keep watch while I work.” Sam’s unique knack, letting him know if any humans had him in their sights, was invaluable at times like this, but in front of the deserted house he doubted they needed anything so fancy. Unless the wayward scientist was in the house, there might not be a soul for miles.  
  
Jacob winced. He had the tools for the task in one of his pockets, but none of the skills. It was one thing to have Sam explain it to him that morning, and another to actually need to _do it_ by the afternoon. Jacob Andris, a police officer's stepson, didn't exactly have the need to build up the skillset that Dean or Sam had.  
  
"I think it'd be faster if you did it," he admitted. "Probably a bit quieter too." He held his hand out next to the doorknob, angling it to make it a pathway for Sam to use.  
  
Sam slid down Jacob’s sleeve. Something in him was telling him that they couldn’t afford to waste a moment more. Now that their goal was in sight, he was itching to get to work, do more than just chill on Jacob’s shoulder and let him save the day.  
  
Once he was by the lock, balanced perfectly on Jacob’s hand, Sam sized up his opponent. Dean had made Sam practice with different locks at different motels, and even once on the trunk of the Impala, both with a lockpick and a paperclip substitute. This time was more than just another practice session though. Lives could be riding on them sneaking into this house.  
  
Pulling out a paperclip from his satchel, Sam unfolded it just the way Dean had demonstrated. He was strong enough to bend the metal bars, each thicker than his fingers.  
  
Once it was ready, Sam inserted one end into the top of the lock to work and the other into the bottom of the lock to act as a torque wrench. Worrying his bottom lip, Sam began to go by feel. Another good thing for his size was the ease with which he could tell where the tumblers were inside the dark lock. It made them easy to manipulate, and as it clicked into place, Sam let out a hiss of triumph, planted his boot against the bottom of the paperclip to kick it outwards and gave the top a yank, and the lock clicked open.  
  
Jacob released a breath. While Sam worked, he'd made every effort to freeze in place. Even the smallest twitch could throw off the little guy's concentration, and they needed things to go smoothly. This late in the game, every nerve was on edge.  
  
The hand Sam used as a platform lifted towards his chest to anchor the small hunter while the other hand settled over the newly-unlocked handle. "Here goes," he muttered, opening up the house.  
  
The door opened to a front sitting area. It was dimly lit inside, and every surface redefined "clutter” in a way that made Bobby Singer’s house look organized. Old papers, dusty science equipment, and even dishes long-since cleared of food could be found on the coffee table, end tables, and couch cushions. A cabinet with half the drawers open stood to one side, some knick knacks spilled out onto the floor.  
  
Jacob paused in the doorway to scan the room, taking a slow breath. Nothing monstrous leaped out of any of the creeping shadows at them, and he let the door fall closed behind him. "I guess I don't know what I was expecting."  
  
In a room beyond the first one, grubby kitchen counters were littered with boxes and tupperwares of food. The one corner of the kitchen table in there that they could see was as cluttered as the living room.  
  
"Maybe nobody's ... home," he muttered, drawing it out as he listened for more than the creaking sound of the house settling.  
  
“Not likely,” Sam replied, alert and listening as intently as Jacob. Just under the background noises from outside and the settling of the house, he could hear a voice. It distantly echoed through the air, nearly indistinguishable from the birds outside even for Sam, and his ears were sharper than Jacob’s because of his size. It left him deafened when things got too loud, but when it came to separating out the sounds of humans from everything else, he was better equipped than his human friends.  
  
The distant voice grew louder, and Sam jerked towards it. “Downstairs, there’s someone downstairs,” he said, his gaze straying to the ground under Jacob’s boots. “I can hear them. They must not have heard us come in.”  
  
Jacob took a steadying breath and nodded to himself as much as to Sam. He sidled around the research-laden furniture in that front room, always scanning for a threat. Bowman's stories of undead wolves and sickly black sorcerers echoed in the back of his mind as a reminder of the kind of danger that might be lurking. There might not be wolves here, but that didn't mean Jacob could let his guard down.  
  
As he searched for the stairs to the basement, his hand brushed over the handle of the gun he was carrying. He didn't want to draw it too early, but the weapon had a reassuring weight. He had _something_ to defend himself.  
  
At the back of the house, he finally found it. A door hung open, revealing a dim hall descending old wooden stairs. At the bottom landing, another door was ajar by just an inch. It'd barely be room for Sam to squeeze through the opening, but dingy light fell through that opening.  
  
More than that, sound drifted out. There was one distinct voice, surely human. A few steps down, Jacob froze as another sound finally reached his ears.  
  
There were _other_ voices in that room. _Tiny_ voices, crying out in fear.  
  
His hand clenched tighter around the rickety handrail and he glanced down at Sam. If Jacob heard those little voices, Sam had to have picked them up, too. They'd found something, and it was time to rush in.  
  
Stealth was forgotten as Jacob descended the rest of the stairs. The hand ferrying Sam remained as steady as ever in front of his chest, the fingers curling even more to avoid toppling the little hunter. His free hand was like a battering ram against the door, slamming it open without hesitation to take in the sight of the room beyond.  
  
  
Sam was slack jawed at what he saw, and not just because of the earthquake Jacob was when opening the door.  
  
The room was dark, dingy, dirty… just like what would be expected out of a horror novel. The only clean area was a table, covered in any mad scientist’s dream of tools.   
  
Three cages hung in the air, slightly above Sam’s eye level. He caught glimpses of tiny wings in one-- _the children--_ and in the other the sprite was alert and angry, hands clinging to the bars with his wings twitching. The third cage was motionless, and if there was anyone in it, they weren’t moving.  
  
Sam barely noticed the man hunched over the table, turning towards Jacob with an outraged expression, too busy staring at the splash of green that was there.  
  
 _Rischa_.  
  
Restraints held her to the table, her arms and legs spread-eagled and her wings outstretched and helpless. He didn’t need to be up close to imagine the terror in those vibrant golden eyes.  
  
Sam had been at the mercy of giants before, he knew what it felt like better than anyone.  
  
Punching Jacob’s chest, Sam demanded “Put me down! You have to stop him!” There was no one else, and Jacob couldn’t fight with his hands full.  
  
Jacob jolted after the tiny punch as if coming up for air. The sight of the cages filled with tiny, leaf-winged sprites had dropped a feeling of dread over him like a heavy blanket. They'd found them, but he could tell from a glance that they were in bad shape.  
  
Innocent faces peered out at him, and Jacob took a steadying breath. Anger twitched through him and he sprang into action.  
  
The hand around Sam tilted enough for him to curl his fingers safely around the smaller man. Not a moment too soon, he sidestepped into the room and ducked as the man at the workbench hurled something towards him. Sam, held carefully in the curved hand, wouldn't be at risk of falling from the quick movement.  
  
Jacob knelt down as fast as he safely could and let Sam down near the wall, and could barely spare an apologetic glance before standing up to his full height.  
  
The scientist rose, too, but he came to a full head shorter than Jacob. His body was much thinner by comparison. After days and weeks of seeing him as the only giant around, the sprites finally saw him compared to the biggest giant they knew.  
  
Jacob lunged towards the man, boots shaking the floor. His shoulder clipped one of the cages, but he didn't have time to double check whether it really was empty. It was more important to get his hands on that other human and keep him _away_ from the vulnerable sprites.  
  
It never entered his mind to wonder where Dean was.  
  
The scientist lifted a hand towards him as he approached, but Jacob caught his wrist and forced it aside to drive a punch right into his gut. He winded the guy, and used the distraction to drag him away from the workbench.  
  
Tiny Rischa was stuck there, and it only fueled Jacob's anger further. The scientist stumbled as he hauled him back.  
  
The man recovered enough to put his hand around Jacob's wrist. By himself, he was no match for Jacob's honed strength, but then he hissed out a word in a dead language and the pressure built. Jacob snarled and yanked his hand away, escaping the smaller grip before it could crush bone.  
  
"You bastard," he muttered, taking another swing. The scientist balked and the hit only grazed his face instead of knocking him out cold like it should. "They're innocent!"  
  


* * *

  
Dean had no idea what was going on.  
  
The edge of his cage was clipped by Jacob’s shoulder as the massive teenager charged past, sending it into deadly swings. Dean clung to his silver knife like a lifeline, flung into the air until he slammed into the opposite side. A brief sight of the drop beneath the cage bottomed out his stomach, and the impact sent shards of pain through his likely-broken ribs, making tears of pain squeeze out between his eyes.  
  
The cage continued to swing, Dean limply rolling with each tilt. He had no energy to resist, or to fight. All he could manage was weakly curl into a ball, wrapping his hands around his neck for protection and tucking his legs in close for what little defense that gave him. Whatever this scientist’s mad plan for Dean was, this must be the end of it. Jacob’s voice didn’t penetrate through the layers of hazy red that closed around Dean. He couldn’t comprehend the fight raging outside.  
  
All he could do was hope the end would be swift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob and Sam have tracked down their friends, and won't stand for this!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** October 18th, 2020 at 9pm.


	40. The Eye of the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for character death

As Jacob successfully clashed with the scientist, Sam bolted.  
  
Running along the perimeter of the room, he dug his hook from his satchel. Keeping one eye on the giants’ fight and the other on his goal, Sam ran for the one person in this room he could help.  
  
Rischa.  
  
Though from the ground he could no longer spot her pinned wings, Sam knew she was up on the table, all alone and terrified in a room of fighting humans. Empath or not, she was still just a kid. If Sam couldn’t get her free, he would do his best to keep her safe until Jacob finished off the fight.  
  
And if he didn’t, Sam would go down fighting just like Dean would.  
  
He didn’t slow down when he reached the table. The three-pronged grappling hook, made out of a fisherman’s hook and fishing line, sailed into the air and caught on the edge, Sam all but leaping up it before testing for stability. Safe or not, he couldn’t afford to be down on the ground during a fight longer than necessary.  
  
Luck saw him through his rapid climb, one of the fastest climbs he’d ever done. Dean would scold for the risks Sam was taking, but they’d all be worth it.  
  
At the top he didn’t stop to gather his hook. He ran for Rischa, leaving the hook and line combo anchored in place.  
  
Skirting around the edge of Rischa’s restraints, Sam tugged on one to try and release it. Nothing budged. Unsurprised, he left it alone and focused on what he _could_ do.  
  
The giants fought in the distance, cages swinging from the shaking ground. Sam crouched over Rischa, looking into her terrified golden eyes.  
  
“It’ll be okay,” Sam swore, placing a hand on her cheek and forcing her to look him in the eyes. “You’re _safe_ now. I’ll take care of you.”  
  
For a moment, Rischa's eyes fixed on Sam's but they were far away. Locked behind a wall of terror, she couldn't comprehend his words or sudden appearance. She offered no resistance to the large hand covering part of her face, and tears filtered out of her eyes.  
  
She knew that face. " _Sam?!_ "  
  
His calm compared to everyone else washed over her like cool water. Rage and fear and pain filled the air, but Rischa's wide eyes stayed on Sam. She wasn't strong enough to bear it all. She latched onto his calm like it was a life vest in a choppy ocean.  
  
A shuddering sob rose from her chest and she almost looked away from him. His large hand wouldn't let her, and her vision blurred with more tears. "S-Sam, I tried so hard," she whimpered. "I'm sorry, I'm _sorry,_ I can't help Dean feel better, he's in _pain._ "  
  
Her hands strained against the magnets holding them down as if she might lift them to embrace the sprite-sized human. To put herself closer to his calm aura while the sounds of a fight raged beyond him.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob landed more punches to the scientist's face and chest, but he couldn't gain the upper hand for long. The man was smaller, but that gave him a chance to squirrel out of reach more than once. Jacob never let him get to the door, but the older human had more endurance than he'd have expected out of someone like him.  
  
Whatever gave him the ability to steal sprites from a forest miles away had to be aiding him even now.  
  
They bumped the cages no matter how Jacob tried to avoid them. The cage with the young sprites was farther away, and Jacob made an effort to keep them out of it. The scientist's head smacked into Bowman's cage once and the sprite toppled to the ground.  
  
Jacob swung an arm at the scientist to knock him away from Bowman again, but he missed and nearly threw his own balance off. It was only one second of hesitation, but it could cost so much more. The man's focus turned instead to the workbench with an enraged snarl. His mouth was bloodied from biting his tongue at some point, and his countenance was terrifying.  
  
Jacob spotted Sam kneeling where Rischa was, his back to the room. He didn't have time to think back to the way Sam always seemed to know when someone was looking at him.  
  
A hand was descending towards him like a claw, ready to snatch him up.  
  
Reacting to the danger that crawled up his back, Sam threw himself on top of Rischa, sheltering her from the attack with his own body as well as he could. He cared nothing for his own safety, only for what he could do for her.  
  
A shadow fell over them, fingers curling towards the tiny pair.  
  
Jacob was there before the man could grab Sam. His own hand locked around a frail wrist, and his other arm locked around the man's neck. For a second the two humans paused, locked in a contest of strength with their hands barely inches away from Sam and Rischa.  
  
Then, the scientist hissed with pain and faltered. Jacob had a chance to toss him back away from the workbench once more.  
  
Sam let out a shaky gasp as the scientist was dragged away from them, picking himself off Rischa so he wasn’t in danger of crushing the lightweight girl. Jacob was doing his best to keep the man under control, so Sam turned his full attention to her, putting his hand on her shoulder.  
  
“We’ll get Dean out as soon as Jacob finishes this guy off,” Sam soothed, not realizing Dean was in the room with them. Neither he nor Jacob had spotted the older hunter yet.  
  
His heart cringed a little to hear that Dean was out there in pain, somewhere. He knew that Rischa was an empath and a powerful one. She could be echoing Dean’s pain right now, and Sam didn’t know the range of her power.  
  
But if Dean was in pain, he was alive. That was enough for Sam’s hope to be rekindled.  
  
“Just focus on me, okay?” Sam said, concern painted over his face. “We need you safe first, then we’ll take care of everyone else and find where he’s keeping Dean.”  
  
Rischa sobbed more, but she nodded fervently. For all the wisdom and insight she had, she was merely a child. The reassurance was like a balm to her soul. More tears came, along with heavy sobs.  
  
"H-h-he's here, Sam," she mumbled through her crying. "Needs you."  
  


* * *

  
Jacob advanced on the scientist, who slinked backwards towards the wall. Those vicious green eyes were full of a blind malice, nothing like the usual arrogant calm. "You stupid boy," he muttered, raising a hand.  
  
There was a pause, another moment of hesitation before Jacob lifted one of his arms to knock the hand aside. Before it could connect, he flinched back and grimaced. Pain shuddered through his chest, like a bloom of fire had erupted within it.  
  
Jacob gasped. An old wound that he had thought would never pain him again all but exploded in agony. He remembered this too well. Months of aching as the tiny slug of metal was slowly lost among scar tissue within his chest. "You have a souvenir, I see," the scientist taunted. "You should let me take that out."  
  
 _No,_ Jacob thought through the pain. He could lose too much blood if a surgeon removed the bullet in an attempt to save his life. This mad scientist with his ugly magic could end him right there.  
  
An image flashed in his mind of a gun, a flash of fire, and then pain just like this. The reminder was enough.  
  
Jacob reached behind him to grab the gun he'd forgotten he had. It was in his hand and swept forward in a clumsy motion. Sam had told him how to take the safety off and take aim, but the words had had an uncertainty to them. Sam had only ever seen _Dean_ do this. Jacob had no gun training at all.  
  
The scientist didn't know that. He flinched in surprise, and the heat in Jacob's chest died away. He could focus again.  
  
The gun was an unfamiliar weight in his hand. Jacob was glad the others were behind him now, because he couldn't trust his aim.  
  
While he glanced down at the weapon, his opponent rushed forward. One hand, strengthened again by magic, snatched around his wrist and tried to yank it upwards. The other reached up and found Jacob's throat. Though the man wasn't nearly big enough to get a proper grip to crush his windpipe, he clawed harshly at Jacob's neck anyway.  
  
There was a shout, and then another. Jacob tried to shove the man away, but he was muttering in that unknown language again.  
  
Jacob stumbled back and struggled to wrench himself away. His hand clenched around the gun.  
  
There was a flash of fire and a roar of sound, and then the room froze. The scientist's green eyes were wide and his grip slackened. The barrel of the gun emitted the faintest wisp of smoke, flowing up where it was aimed right at the man's heart.  
  
Jacob took the chance to shove the man off of him. He landed near the wall and Jacob took aim with the gun, but he didn't need to. The scientist was dead before he hit the ground. Whatever magic he used to steal the sprites and mess with the bullet in Jacob's chest wasn't enough to save him.  
  
Jacob's hands shook. He distractedly put the safety on the gun, and then it clattered to the floor.   
  
It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob has a lot of issues with guns, since he's been shot before, but with his friends on the line, he doesn't let them down!
> 
> Meanwhile, Rischa clings to Sam. In such a storm of emotions, he's the one calm spot in the room.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** October 21st, 2020 at 9pm.


	41. A Long-Awaited Rescue

As the deafening sound died off in the room, Sam slowly picked himself up from where he was flattened over Rischa again in an attempt to protect her from any backlash of the gunshot. His ears were ringing but the room was open enough that he wasn’t completely deafened, and he hoped the same was true for all the children in the cages.  
  
Sam ran his hand through Rischa’s hair, smiling warmly at her. “I told you Jacob would take care of things,” he said, voice higher than normal to hear over the ringing. “He’s got it under control.”  
  
Standing, Sam surveyed the room. His mind was closed to any disgust over the corpse crumpled against the wall, blood puddling around it. He was far more concerned with Jacob, Rischa and all the other children.  
  
“Jacob!” Sam called to snap his friend out of his post-fight daze. “Can you give me a hand? I can’t get the bindings off Rischa!”  
  
Jacob looked up from the blood on his shaking hands. Blinking quickly, he came back to the room and twisted in place. Sam's voice was muffled and there was a spot in Jacob's vision from the gun, but he picked up enough words. He closed the distance and crouched so he could see the two figures on the table.  
  
"Don't worry, Rischa," he murmured. The rage of only moments ago was gone from his voice, and exhausted relief filled the void. "I'll get you out and then I'll get the other cages down."  
  
He brushed his hands on his hoodie before reaching down towards her. Rischa watched his fingers, all bigger than she was, before finally turning trusting eyes back on his face. The clasps lifted away from her in gentle hands.  
  
As soon as she could, Rischa sat up and rubbed at her wrists. Then, when she was completely free and Jacob went to retrieve the cages, she staggered to her feet.  
  
Her voice was raspy. "Sam," she said, grabbing at his jacket to look up at him. The cage full of nestlings settled gently on the table somewhere behind them. She didn't acknowledge Jacob's huge, earth-shaking steps. "He wanted to take our magic away. Dean doesn't _have_ it so he just hurt him instead and I tried to help make it better. I can Pray more soon. I promise."  
  
Sam’s heart clenched at the thought of what the scientist could have done to Dean while at his mercy, but he didn’t let it distract him.  
  
“You did good,” Sam said, refusing to ever even consider blaming Rischa for anything. He put a hand over her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug, brushing a hand over her weakened, sun-starved wings. “Dean can handle a lot, I’ve seen him pull through situations other people might have died in. Jacob will find him for us and _when you’re up to it,_ you can Pray for him.”  
  
While Sam took care of Rischa, Jacob went to the second hanging cage. His brow pinched at the sight of Bowman lying inside, breathing heavily. His tiny face was angled downward and his arms covered his head. His splayed wings quivered.  
  
"Bowman," Jacob muttered. The little sprite jolted and looked up. Jacob offered him a faint smile. "Found ya, buddy. I'm gonna get your cage down."  
  
Bowman flinched when Jacob's hands came into view, but then he sat up so he could cross his arms. "W-well, you took your blasted time finding us, didn't you," he mock-scolded. His tired smile didn't last long and he doubled forward in his pain. "You saved Rischa."  
  
That little voice rarely broke like that. Jacob's heart fell to see Bowman in such a painful, subdued mood, but he didn't let it delay him. He unhooked the cage and brought it back to the table at last. He had to check one more, and then he could see about getting them free, or Sam could pick the locks.  
  
He approached the last cage with softer steps than before. When he reached it, his brow furrowed to find it wasn't empty like he thought. He'd bumped that one more than the others, and the shape inside was huddled into a tiny, fragile ball.  
  
He opened his mouth to greet them, and then a number of details reached him all at once. Jeans, a leather jacket, and no wings. Mussed, light brown hair topped a teeny head, and hands with almost microscopic fingers guarded a neck that was no stronger than a twig.  
  
He couldn't see the face, but Jacob suddenly realized who he was looking at with a sinking feeling right in his gut.  
  
"Dean?"  
  
At Jacob’s exclamation, Sam’s head turned right around, seeking out his older brother. He wondered how he’d missed the second human arriving, a man who might be talented in stealth but still made the tables shake under Sam’s feet, and always sent a tingle of awareness across his neck no matter how safe he was.  
  
There was no Dean in the doorway, no other human standing with Jacob. Sam heard no footsteps coming down the stairs, and his eyes widened to see Jacob staring intently at the last cage in his hands.  
  
All thoughts of the others went out of his mind as Sam blankly stepped towards Jacob. “Dean? What do you mean? Where is he?” As much as he tried to dampen the worry in his voice, Sam didn’t like the look Jacob was giving that cage.  
  
While all this was going on, Dean cringed back from the new voice that thundered around him, trying to curl up smaller as he flinched back from Jacob. The kid he’d brushed off and snapped at when they’d first officially met, the person who bore the brunt of Dean’s anger the first days after his father’s death. Now that same person held Dean’s cage between his hands, and Dean was helpless compared to him. Small enough that one finger would be enough to crush what was left of his chest.  
  
Dean cowered, and none of Sam’s words made it past the ringing in his ears as he feared what Jacob might do.  
  
Jacob almost spared Sam a glance, but Dean's tiny, cowering posture wouldn't let him tear his attention away. He watched with wide eyes as if paralyzed. The only movement came from his shallow breathing. Dean was trying to curl up, but he was already so _small._ Way too small. He carried none of the confidence that Sam used to face the giant world around him.  
  
Guilt coiled around Jacob's heart. He could have caused any number of injuries.  
  
"Just gonna move you over to the table," he murmured. If his voice could reach the Dean hiding behind that wall of terror, he wanted him to know he would be okay. He didn't know what else to _say_ to someone he'd scared this badly.  
  
Just as before, he carried the cage carefully back to the table. Before setting it down, he shot Sam a remorseful glance. Then, the cage lowered next to the others, with the trapped sprites crowding close to see the state of the last prisoner.  
  
Sam pulled away from Rischa, nearly running as he bolted to the side of the cage. All he could see was the shuddering form on the cage floor that jolted and tightened his grip on his neck when the bottom of the cage touched ground on the table.  
  
“Dean,” Sam whispered, grabbing the bars of the cage, his hazel eyes wide.  
  
Dean was _small._  
  
The other hunter was huddled with his back against the cage bars, pushed up against it by a boot planted on the metal floor. He didn’t react to Sam’s voice, but with the ringing in Sam’s ears, he couldn’t blame Dean for that. Everything else… the leather jacket that would be small on Sam, the absolutely miniscule watch that Dean wore on his wrist, the tiny spike of hair on his head… it was all so _wrong._  
  
Sam knelt down, a hand reaching through the bars to Dean’s shoulder. The feel of the leather was so odd now… soft and pliant, where before it was hard and coarse. Sam’s heart ached. Dean shouldn’t be small. That was Sam’s cross to bear.  
  
“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam said in a hush when Dean tried flinching away from the edge. “Dean, it’s me, it’s _Sam,_ you’re okay now, we’ve got you.”  
  
The denim- and leather-clad figure stiffened under Sam’s touch, then two green eyes the same size as Sam’s peeked up at him. “S-Sammy?” he asked hoarsely.  
  
Sam smiled gently, hiding the fear in him at the sight of the stress lines on Dean’s face and the wet track of tears that made his cheeks slick. “It’s just me,” he said reassuringly, then stood. “I need to get you out. Hang on.”  
  
Dean was on the opposite side of the cage from the door. Sam ran over, his hands fumbling three times before he could pull a paperclip out of his bag, still twisted for the other lock. Grabbing onto the cage bars, Sam hauled himself up to be able to reach the lock, then cursed when he nearly slipped trying to get the paperclip into the keyhole. “Dammit!”  
  
Jacob and the sprites watched with worry, and Rischa tucked her arms around her middle. Dean's pain echoed in her and she sniffled. He was going through too much for one person.  
  
The only giant in the room shifted his feet nervously. Jacob scanned the workbench to fight off the shock. One thing after the other threatened to swarm his thoughts and steal his focus, and right now he was the only line of defense they had.  
  
He opened up drawers on the bench, and the loud sound punctuated the tiny mutters. He eventually found a tool that would have to work for the task at hand, and held it up. "Sam, let me use this," he announced, proffering a pair of wire cutters.   
  
Sam blinked, his eyes watering as he looked back at Jacob, for a moment having forgotten about the largest member of their group. The wire cutters were something Dean would have thought of if he was the one in charge.  
  
Letting the metal go, Sam dropped back to the table. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?” he called out to Dean, once again in his curled-up ball for protection when Jacob’s voice rang out overhead.  
  
Sam hated to think of the implications from that for what Dean had gone through.  
  
Backing off, Sam gave Jacob plenty of space to work on the cage door, primed and ready to run the second it was open. None of his instinctive fears of cages would keep him out and separated from Dean. Not after all they’d gone through.  
  
The urgency crackled in the air like static, and Jacob wasted no time. The wire cutters swooped on Dean's cage first, and he tried to ignore the way Dean cowered as far away as he could. That fear belonged there. Whatever had happened to Dean in the last few days had been at the hands of someone Jacob's size.  
  
The wire cutters strained for only a moment at the lock before slicing through the metal. Jacob all but ripped the door open after that, and then left it to do the same for the other two cages.  
  
He knew Sam would be there to take care of Dean. He had to look after the sprites.  
  
The nestlings were freed next, all wandering timidly out onto the table. One younger nestling rushed over to Rischa for a hug. Jacob's lips moved soundlessly as he counted them, and he was relieved to find every missing sprite there.  
  
Except for one. Jacob clipped the lock on Bowman's cage and finally tossed the wire cutters to the floor. Bowman strode out of the cage as confidently as could be, but he carried himself cautiously. When those bright green little eyes angled up towards Jacob, there was lingering fear and pain there.  
  
Jacob slid a hand around so it hovered just behind Bowman. Bowman rolled his eyes, but then allowed himself to collapse backwards onto the offered palm.  
  


* * *

  
Sam rushed into the cage the second Jacob tore the door open, straight to his older brother.  
  
His _small_ older brother. Shorter than Sam, shorter than Bowman. Dean was the smallest person in their group that wasn’t a kid, and he was in a bad way based on his pale complexion and furrowed features.  
  
It would take a _lot_ of pain to do this to Dean, so Sam was cautious as he put his arms around his shoulders, lifting him up. His weight was so slight, it was almost too easy. For years Dean had been this unmovable person, strong and dependable, and now he could get knocked over by a stiff breeze.  
  
Dean groaned as Sam lifted him up, his hands moving from his neck to his chest, face scrunched in pain.  
  
“Hey, you’re okay, I’ve gotcha,” Sam said, positioning Dean so he was leaning against him. “Can you tell me what hurts?”  
  
“R-ribs,” Dean grunted, his head lifting and his eyes forced open. “Sammy… you made it.”  
  
Despite the pain Dean was in, his injury and everything else that was going on, there was pride and awe in that voice. A voice that didn’t rumble. It sounded so _normal_ Sam nearly cried. The one time he got to see his brother at the same scale without it being a dream, they were at the _wrong_ scale. Sam’s, not Dean’s. Inches of height, not feet. And Dean too weak to help himself up.  
  
Sam took Dean’s arm, draping it over his neck and wrapping an arm around his chest and under his other arm. “We did, and now it’s time to go. As soon as we’ve got everyone safe, we’ll see about fixing you up, deal?”  
  
A ghost of a smirk crossed Dean’s pale face. “Deal,” he croaked.  
  
With a warning to Dean that they were about to move, Sam shifted and stood, taking Dean’s weight along with him as though he was as light as a feather. To Sam, he _was._ He could hold up _Dean,_ where before one hand was enough to pin him to the table if Dean was joking around.  
  
Dean groaned again as they stood, and Sam whispered an apology. “Almost there,” he reassured him, taking a step towards the cage door.  
  
One step, and then another.  
  
With constant reassurance and encouragement, Dean made it to the door and stepped over the lip of the cage with Sam. A shudder shook his shoulders, and Sam gave Dean’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re free,” he whispered, remembering how it felt a week ago when _Dean_ was the one tearing off the door of a cage and freeing _Sam._  
  
In the distance, the nestlings were safely gathered together with Rischa, and Jacob was helping Bowman out, one huge hand lifting up with the sprite sprawled out on it.  
  
Dean stiffened, and before Sam realized the danger, had twisted out of his grip. Not even an injury could keep him from reacting to the sight of a huge hand holding Bowman again. Flashes from the last few days, of Bowman spread-eagled on a table, a needle lowering to him, of a hand casually flicking Dean into a wall, all came to him at once.  
  
“Drop ‘im!” Dean ordered, his colt out in a wavering grip as he stood his ground, defiantly standing up to Jacob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, Dean't not completely in his right mind after all this...
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** October 25th, 2020 at 9pm.


	42. Bridging the Gap

Shocked at the sight of the colt in Dean's hands, shakily leveled at Jacob while the small hunter stood with his boots planted against the tabletop, Sam reacted like a whip.   
  
"Dean, no!" he snapped, smacking it out of Dean's weak grip, afraid of his older brother shooting the one person that was helping them.  
  
That hit was the last straw for Dean's strength. He weakly crumpled to the ground even as the gun skidded across the table from them. Sam dove, getting a hand under Dean’s shoulder in seconds to catch his weight. Dean slumped into his arms, his face pallid and eyes blinking at Sam like he was looking at someone he’d never seen before.  
  
That look from Dean sent a strange brush against his neck. Weaker than it was with any humans he’d ever met, but definitely there, distinctly different from when he was around people his size. None of them ever gave him the strange feeling of being _watched._ At least one part of Dean hadn’t changed.  
  
Jacob froze, along with the sprites. As glad as he was to have Bowman back in safe hands, the undertone of guilt returned. Dean had been through a lot, as had Bowman. The only difference was that Dean hadn't trusted or even gotten along with Jacob before all of this.  
  
He lowered his hand without even a prompt, wordlessly putting Bowman back into Dean's line of sight. Bowman nodded encouragingly and pushed himself back to his feet. His leafy wings folded awkwardly to his back and he was clearly in pain, but he inched towards Dean.  
  
"I'm okay," he said, squatting down a few inches away. "We're out of those blasted cages now."  
  
While they all worked to keep Dean calm, Jacob stepped back. His boots scraped along the grubby floor to announce his steady retreat. Soon, he was hardly looming at all. He wanted to help, but he couldn't do that by being too close.  
  
“He’s okay, see?” Sam murmured, putting his arm under Dean’s, this time for moral support. “Jacob’s not going to hurt him. He won’t hurt _anyone._ He’s our friend, remember?”  
  
Dean blinked, staring at the huge teenager standing back from the others. A shudder went up his back, and Sam had to adjust position to keep Dean from falling back down. “S-- safe?”  
  
“Yeah, Dean, _safe,_ ” Sam emphasized. “He’s going to get the sprites home, and we’ll figure out how to fix you. Get you back to your giant-self.”  
  
Bowman offered a smile that blended confidence and exhaustion. "Not that it isn't fun talking face to face, but you're supposed to be bigger."  
  
Hearing where the conversation had drifted, Rischa inched forward. "Before ... when, um. When the man was hurting Dean, he said he might try to make it _permanent,_ and that means it isn't!" She was hoarse from her screaming and crying, but she stepped forward to deliver the news with as much of a smile as she could.  
  
She knelt down on the table and reached out to place both of her small hands on one of Dean's. He might be reduced to much smaller than he was meant to be, but his hands still made hers look so small.  
  
"I can't fix it myself but I can heal you a little more before we go," she told him gently.  
  
Dean’s hand curled around so that he was holding Rischa’s instead of the other way around, and part of him marveled at the fact that he _could_ do that. He’d spent most of the last few days locked away from the sprites, and it still felt odd to be able to hold an entire hand instead of an entire sprite.  
  
“You don’t have to,” Dean said, pushing past his pain. “I just need some rest, that’s all.”  
  
“You need more than rest,” Sam said severely, moving to let Dean sit on the table for a moment with the sprites. “If _I_ was the one with broken ribs, you wouldn’t even let me wander.”  
  
Dean scowled, but Sam was already turned away. He could feel the glare on the back of his neck, but knew he’d gotten the best of Dean this time.  
  
Turning his attention to Jacob, Sam gestured at the worktable they were on. “Can you grab any notes you see?” he called. “Anything that might tell us what he did to Dean and how long it’s going to last.”  
  
Jacob nodded. The surface of the table itself, other than cages and tiny people, was littered with the tools of the scientist's awful trade. The shelves near it, by contrast, were cluttered with books, and some of them had papers jammed within the pages. With one last scan of the table to make sure he wasn't going to startle anyone, he stepped to the side to begin the search for anything and everything the man had on what he was doing.  
  
It was impossible to miss Jacob's huge movements, but Bowman opened his wings partially, trying to distract Dean from watching too skittishly. He knew all too well what it felt like to encounter giants for the first time.  
  
"Birdie, make sure you don't make yourself pass out," he warned, reaching one wing forward to nudge at Rischa's back. She sent him a determined but exhausted smile over her shoulder. Bowman raised his eyebrows. "No overdoing it!"  
  
Rischa giggled quietly and turned her focus back to Dean. "Something for the pain at least," she reasoned, before muttering her familiar Prayer.  
  
Before, the magic trickled in like a light rain. With no more distance keeping Dean away from the source, it came like a flood. Healing magic washed into him from where Rischa's hands were tucked in his.  
  
Dean let out a sigh of relief, his hand going limp under hers.  
  
Sam was back over to catch Dean when he crumpled from the sudden absence of pain, a lot of adrenaline going out of him with Rischa’s mending. Sam smiled warmly at the girl, heartened to know she was well enough to heal.  
  
“Bastard snapped my ribs to force them to heal me,” Dean said, looking at Sam with wide eyes. “He was trying to find who had the strongest magic and he used _me_ to do it!” Some of his red-hot rage was back at the memory, bright past the haze of pain from the last half hour.  
  
Sam patted Dean’s back awkwardly, feeling so odd with Dean small enough to fit under his arm. “No one’s blaming you for this,” he swore.  
  
Rischa sighed and pulled her hands away at last, before she drained herself enough to slump over. "No one," she echoed. "It's not your fault. Never was."  
  
Seeing his young cousin rubbing at her eyes, Bowman scooted forward to let her lean against him. He patted her hair and glanced at the other nestlings lingering near. With his nod, they all hurried to sit with the group, exhausted and sniffling but free of their cage at last.   
  
Their wings were in varied stages of sun-starvation after their captivity, but something about being free gave them a healthier look already.  
  
Vel marched over to Sam and Dean, looking up at Sam with a tired smile. "I _knew_ you were gonna come. An' the first time I ever came here I said a prayer ev'ryday, an' I thought about the ... the emen-candy."  
  
Sam smiled back. “We’ll get a whole bag of M&Ms after this,” he promised. “Enough for everyone to have their own.”  
  
“Blue for me,” Dean declared, glancing up from his chest, where he was tenderly checking how the bones were doing after Rischa’s Prayer. Though it wasn’t enough to knit them back together all at once, the way Nixie’s magic worked (when someone was willing to allow her to submerge them in water and pretty much… yep, Dean liked this way better), there were definite signs of improvement.  
  
Holding out a hand for Vel, Dean smiled hesitantly. “Looks like we made it out, champ.”  
  
Vel beamed at him in return. The boy leaned forward on the balls of his feet as though he were ready to hop forward, and then seemed to rethink it only a second later. His wings perked up weakly and he reached out to place his little hand in Dean's. "I wanted to keep bein’ brave," he said more seriously. "Keep ev'ryone safe. It's really hard not to be scared."  
  
"Vel did very good," Rischa mumbled on autopilot. Her eyes were closed and she slumped against Bowman. "Make his brothers ... proud." A yawn split her sentence, but she hardly seemed to notice.  
  
Behind them, there was a rasp of paper on paper as Jacob pulled a bundle of lined pages from between books on the shelf. After a glance over the scrawled handwriting on the papers, he glanced up to meet Sam's eyes and give a quick nod. Even having found what they were after, he stayed crouched by the shelf until he had a cue to approach.  
  
Sam nodded back, then patted Dean on the shoulder. “We should go,” he said, his voice low and serious. His eyes flashed to Jacob. “Think you'll be okay?”  
  
Dean winced, then put his free hand on his leg to push himself to a stand. Sam hurriedly moved to support him, wrapping his arm around Dean to keep any strain from going on those ribs while they were healing. As odd as it was to be _able_ to help Dean like this, it also felt _right_. The way things should be, if only they were human-sized.  
  
The entire time, Dean kept his other hand around Vel’s tiny one. The little sprite they'd adopted as a third brother the last time they visited Wellwood.  
  
Dean took a few steps towards the edge of the workbench, Sam just there to help him go where he wanted, and cleared his throat. Sam and the sprites could see how the tips of his ears were red.  
  
“I think I mighta… got off on the wrong foot with ya,” Dean managed to stammer through to Jacob. He couldn't leave things the way they had been. “I… don't know what's gotten into me. Sorry about that.”  
  
Jacob stayed crouched until he was sure Dean had finished speaking. After the reactions he'd gotten before, the last thing he wanted was to loom overhead and frighten that proud voice back into the tiny, battered chest. He took a slow breath and shrugged. "Things haven't been easy on ya," he replied.  
  
 _Shrunken down and tortured right after his dad died. Way to understate things._  
  
Pushing himself to his feet slowly, Jacob made sure to keep his hands where everyone could see them until he was his full height. They only vanished from view for the instant it took him to roll up the papers he'd found and stow them in his back pocket.  
  
"Looks like you nestlings could use some fruit and some _sun,_ " he noted. The young sprites nodded, with Vel grinning tiredly and swinging Dean's hand back and forth just a bit in his exhausted excitement.  
  
Before approaching the table, he looked to Sam again. "What should I do about..." instead of looking at the man slumped against the wall behind him, he pointed a thumb over his shoulder.  
  
The brothers shared a look, then both turned to gaze at the corpse in unison. Dean's face was impassive, having seen more corpses than he cared to remember during his hunting career. Just because one was giant didn't change that.  
  
Sam, on the other hand, winced. “You're going to want to burn it,” he said, glancing Dean's way to confirm he had it right.  
  
“Second-rate ‘warlock,’ " Dean confirmed. “Too weak on his own for a resurrection spell, but if he came back vengeful, he'd end up being a poltergeist, at least. We don't want to deal with one’a those if we can avoid it.”  
  
“There's salt and fire accelerant in the trunk,” Sam finished, looking back at Jacob.  
  
Jacob had feared that answer. His expression looked like he'd swallowed something sour for a moment, but he nodded. He had signed on for this case, and he would see it through to the end. Whatever that took.  
  
"I'll get everyone a lift to the car and come back to do that," he determined.  
  
Bowman couldn't help but agree. While Jacob took slow steps that shook the work bench beneath them, Bowman wrinkled his nose at the corpse. He wished they could have avoided the nestlings seeing something so gruesome, but at least they wouldn't have to see it _burning._ "Anywhere is better than this room."  
  
Jacob smiled faintly as he came close enough to the table. His hands lowered slowly to the surface, giving everyone plenty of space as he settled them down palm up. "It's best if you can all try to sit close together on one hand in case I need one free. Can you do that for me?"  
  
One of the young nestlings leaned closer to the sprite next to her and nodded to demonstrate. "We can do it!"  
  
Dean had a sour expression on his face. Before he could raise any complaints or a flat refusal of Jacob's idea, Sam jumped in.   
  
“Vel, why don't you give me and Dean a hand?” Sam knelt to pick up Dean's colt, sticking it in his pants much like his older brother did. It was an unconscious move, one that didn't register to Sam as abnormal. He was meant for this.  
  
“I can manage!” Dean said stubbornly as Sam moved to support him again. “I'm not some invalid.”  
  
Sam had to hide the smile lurking on his lips. There was no better way to distract Dean from how he'd be putting himself on a giant hand much like the one that injured him than by touching on his pride.  
  
“Sure you're not,” Sam said blithely, eliciting a suspicious look from Dean before they started moving and he forgot because of the concentration needed.   
  
With a task in front of him, Vel focused on each step. His wings even tried to perk up as he walked along, but they were heavy for him. "I can help. It's okay ta get help sometimes. That's what my mama says."  
  
"Very good," Rischa chimed in, opening her eyes wide as Bowman coaxed her to her feet. She blinked owlishly and hid a yawn with her wrist. For all anyone knew, she could be responding to any part of the conversation for the last several minutes.  
  
Bowman smiled faintly and ruffled her hair. "Don't you worry about the rest of us for now, Birdie," he told her. "We're all getting out. Jacob's gonna carry us." He waved the other nestlings along as the tiny group converged on Jacob's large hands.  
  
Jacob kept still, glancing over the group to count them all. "Bowman, I think you better sit with the rest of them," he suggested. He didn't like the way the sprite was holding his wings.  
  
"I can fly--"  
  
"Just to make sure no one falls over. These guys look pretty tired."  
  
“If I'm stuck, you're stuck, flyboy,” Dean retorted before Bowman could dredge up any more excuses. “Don't even _think_ about darting off on us.”  
  
They got to the edge of Jacob's hand, Vel proudly leading the way for his chosen brothers, before Dean ground to a halt, breathing heavily.  
  
Sam recognized the signs in Dean, having dealt with them himself for several months. Yet it was still wrong to see Dean so skittish around Jacob. Dean was the hunter of the group, charging headlong into danger without a second thought.  
  
And here he was, injured by a thoughtless human that didn't care. “C'mon,” Sam said understandingly. “Let's get the kids out of here.”  
  
“Whu-- uh, yeah,” Dean clung to that thought the way Sam knew he would. “You can sit with me, Vel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's not about to let his Dean and Jacob clash when he knows they're just doing their best!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** October 28th, 2020 at 9pm.


	43. Back Home for Dean

Even with the false bravado, it took Dean a stretch of time before he put his boot up on Jacob's skin. Every nightmare he'd had for the last few days plagued him, and it took all Sam's coaxing to bring him to the center of Jacob's palm-- where Dean would be in the least danger of spotting the heights-- and sit with room for Vel in his lap.  
  
Jacob thanked all his practice with sprites perching on his hands. A couple years ago, when he first met Bowman, the feel of tiny little feet walking across his palm tickled him. He had twitched more than one trusting sprite right off, sending them fluttering away in surprise.  
  
Now, even with Vel's tiny steps walking over his palm, Jacob didn't move. Vel craned his neck back to look up at him, and Jacob nodded encouragingly at him.  
  
Vel smiled back and then settled himself on Dean's lap so there would be plenty of room for everyone on the huge hand. He nearly threw his arms around the shrunken human in a relieved hug, but a part of him remembered the way Dean had been tenderly holding his chest. His front was hurting at least as badly as Vel's wings, so instead Vel found a way to lean gently against him.  
  
Bowman, despite the pouting glare on his face, herded the other nestlings onto the hand after Dean was settled. As planned, the youngest ones stuck close to each other, for comfort as much as to make sure they wouldn't jostle off their perch. When all five nestlings were accounted for, Bowman finally settled himself at the base of Jacob's fingers.  
  
He could take the more precarious spot. Even with his wings hurting, he would be more likely to catch himself than any of the others.  
  
Once there, he finally turned to Sam. "Will you have room?"  
  
Sam smirked at the thought, making sure Dean and Vel were settled before stepping back to check everyone else. “Room?” he asked gamely, walking around the perimeter of Jacob’s hand. “You should know better than to save me room on the _hand,_ Bowman.” The entire time he talked he was grinning.  
  
Once Sam was certain the nestlings were crowded close around Rischa, Dean and Bowman, he stepped lightly up on Jacob’s thumb, then ran across the broad wrist. It was the work of only moments for him to scale up to his preferred shoulder perch on Jacob, able to watch over all the others and Jacob’s back at the same time.  
  
Dean didn’t say anything, but he twisted in place to be able to see Sam’s moves from a whole new perspective. The kid was climbing the equivalent of a _building,_ and made it look so casual. Even more, this was how Sam was around _him_ all the time.   
  
It gave Dean a whole new respect for his younger brother and what he faced each day.  
  
Up on Jacob’s shoulder, Sam still had that shit-eating grin on his face for Bowman. “I’m the _lookout,_ flyboy!” he called, using Dean’s nickname from before.  
  
Beside Sam's perch, Jacob was trying and failing to keep an amused smirk off his face. It grew into a grin when Bowman turned a tiny glare on him instead and he tilted his head to the side in lieu of a shrug. Sam might be mere ounces of weight, but it was hard to miss him standing there.  
  
Messing with Bowman was something that could bring them all together.  
  
He curled one finger inwards to brush against one of the sore wings. Bowman twisted around to swat at it with a hand, but it was already gone and Jacob snickered. "Don't worry about it, buddy. Sam's more used to the corners and stuff so he won't get caught up in the human things."  
  
Bowman wasn't sure if Jacob was teasing him or not, so he crossed his arms and settled down. His pouty look found Dean instead. "You got everyone started," he accused.  
  
Before they could get themselves into a real bickering match, the hand under them shifted. Bowman had to uncross his arms again to brace his hands on Jacob's fingers as the entire platform lifted slowly up, an inch, and then two, and then more. Vel, from his spot slumped against Dean, held out a hand to wave at the cage that had been his prison for so long.  
  
Dean didn’t see any of the cages. The moment the hand was in motion, he went “Oh, God…” beneath his breath, wrapping his arms protectively around Vel and his weak little wings.  
  
And, not that Dean would ever mention it, also for himself to have an anchor.  
  
Squinting his eyes shut, Dean determinedly did _not_ look over the edge of Jacob’s hand, having an impossible time imagining himself as _that_ tall anymore. It felt so unnatural from this point of view.  
  
Jacob did his best to give them all a smooth ride. His hand rose to his chest and gave them a wall at one side, and a steady heartbeat thrummed in time with the pulse beneath them. His fingers curled as much as he could get away with, and he watched his several passengers closely before even thinking of taking a step.  
  
Then, without so much as a glance to the mess he'd have to come back and clean up, Jacob turned and made his way to the door.  
  
The nestlings swayed in time with his steps, and Bowman was keeping an eye on them all. Jacob didn't take the longest strides he could, no matter how much they all wanted to leave that room behind. He wouldn't risk them.  
  
The trek up the stairs was tricky, but soon they reached the ground floor again. Afternoon sun reached them, touching some small sprite wings for the first time in weeks. The nestlings fidgeted, trying to get themselves in a better angle. "We'll make sure you all get plenty of sun as soon as we can," Jacob assured them. "Try to stay still."  
  
Jacob relied on Sam's skill as lookout so he could navigate the house with fewer glances away from the little people all on one hand. When he finally placed his free hand on the doorknob of the exit, he glanced at his shoulder.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
“Anytime!” Sam said, crouching down and prepared for movement. He kept one hand firmly on Jacob’s collar and the other braced against his neck.  
  
Spotting Dean sending him a worried look, Sam waved gamely to let him know he was fine. This was all new to the older hunter, despite spending so much time with Sam. Somehow, Sam suspected that from this perspective, it looked all the more daunting.   
  
Jacob opened the door partway, paused, and then let it fall the rest of the way. No yelps came from his shoulder, and he glanced up and down the secluded street only to find it empty. They were in the clear. More wings rustled on his hand, but this time Bowman took up the task of keeping the nestlings still.  
  
Jacob was halfway to the Impala before he remembered how nervous he had been to drive that car at first. How he'd been ready for Dean's scowl and a few choice cusses when the man found out Jacob had technically _stolen_ his car. Jacob had actually _feared_ the reaction he'd get.  
  
Even though Dean was quivering on his palm, no bigger than a sprite himself, that feeling hadn't really lessened much. Jacob avoided looking down at Dean when he opened up the passenger door with a metallic creak.  
  
"Alright, everyone, you'll have to stay in here for just a little bit and then we'll take you somewhere you can rest and I'll get some food," Jacob announced, kneeling down. The Impala's foreign curves and materials drew the sprites' attention every which way as he finally moved his hand away from his chest. "Just remember, Dean and Bowman know more about what's safe, so mind them."  
  
For a moment, the importance of Jacob opening his car didn’t occur to Dean. Then, he remembered what he had in his pocket and he gave Sam and Jacob a flat look, pulling out his keys.  
  
“Really?” Dean asked as he jingled them. “You… broke… into… my car.”  
  
Sam affected an innocent look. “It’s my car, too!” he said, his hands up in surrender. “I just… got Jacob in using the panic room. And _you’re_ the one that taught me how to hotwire!”  
  
“I didn’t mean hotwire _the Impala!_ ”  
  
Jacob tried to keep his expression at the appropriate level of scolded, but there was a smile trying to fight its way through. Amusement and relief both flooded him to hear the bickering back and forth between the brothers. Dean wasn't too hurt or too terrified to have an argument right from Jacob's palm, with another tiny guy over on Jacob's _shoulder._  
  
Vel glanced up from where he leaned on Dean. The jingling of the shrunken keys drew his attention like a beacon, and he stared in awe at the small, jagged shards of metal as they glittered in the light.  
  
He reached up to brush his fingertips over the keys. "What're those for?"  
  
Distracted from his argument, Dean glanced down at Vel in surprise, having forgotten about the nestlings he was surrounded by. “What? Oh.” He looked blankly at the keys, remembering that where Vel and the other came from, any amount of metal was considered out of the ordinary. “These are the keys to the car.”   
  
Pointing towards the steering wheel, which from this distance might as well be the size of a _house,_ and Dean was happy to _not_ dwell on that fact, he explained, “You just stick them into the hole over there-- _normally--_ " Sam got another _look_ at that, “and turn them to start the car.” He handed them down to Vel. “Mind keeping a good eye on them for me?” he asked with a wink.  
  
“You guys should stay in the panic room until we’re done!” Sam called down.  
  
“ ‘We?’ " Dean repeated, dismayed to realize that he wouldn’t be able to help Jacob dispose of the corpse.  
  
While Sam, though he couldn’t dig a hole or toss the lighter fluid on, could. Sam shrugged. “Someone’s gotta watch Jacob’s back.”  
  
Jacob offered an apologetic smile. "I'll try to be quick about it, but I think these guys need someone who knows where everything is." As he spoke, his hand lowered carefully to the floor of the Impala, like a slow elevator.  
  
Bowman's wings twitched. "I know where _some_ stuff is," he insisted. "Like the steering thingie and the pedals."  
  
The nestlings had lost interest in the discussion happening over their heads in favor of curiously looking over the keys Vel cupped in his hands. To see something human-made at such a scale would be awe-inspiring for any sprite, but the youngsters were fascinated by the shape.  
  
Vel had to clutch the keys to his chest as he scooted off of Dean's lap so he could follow the others off Jacob’s hand. "This car-house is big," he noted. "And so warm!"  
  
Dean groaned as he pushed himself up, the last and least steady to step off Jacob’s hand. His ribs were healing, and most of the pain was numbed, but the ache remained from many deeply painful bruises given over the course of the last few days.  
  
The view of the Impala, from this angle, was far more foreboding than Dean was prepared for. He glanced to the sides, looking in the deep footwells and underneath the seat. His lips quirked up in briefly remembered amusement as he recalled that once, back in their first year back together, Sam had _refused_ to come out from under the seat. Absolutely refused to the point where Dean had worried the little guy would get hurt or catch cold because of the cooling seasons. He’d laid a handkerchief over Sam’s small body, and left him there. _Taking_ him from under the seat would be no better than the way their father wanted Sam to sit things out.  
  
“I’ll be damned,” Dean murmured, then stepped up to the sprites, giving Bowman a flat look for the way the sprite was much taller. As tall as Sam.  
  
Deciding to ignore that, Dean took Vel’s hand again, leaving the one with the keys free. “It would be warmer if it was midday,” he noted. “The black paint job takes care of that.” He didn’t mention that the Impala _usually_ didn’t look this big… there would be no point now that he’d seen it from their point of view.  
  
Dean turned and waved Sam and Jacob off. “You know the knock when you get back!” he said with a look at Sam. “Make sure you _use_ it!”  
  
"I'll remember it," Jacob promised. Once he was sure everyone was steady, he leaned away from the car once more so he could push to a stand. Sam, up on his shoulder, dwindled away from the others. Then, with another creak of metal and the most subdued slam Jacob could manage, the door closed and sealed them in.  
  
Bowman's wings twitched. He didn't like being down on the floor where he couldn't see their surroundings, but even if his wings were fit enough to fly, he knew better. They might have been rescued, but they weren't in the clear yet. Sensing his nerves, Rischa leaned tiredly against him.  
  
Vel and the other nestlings crowded close to the two adults, looking around with wide eyes. The keys to the Impala stayed safe in Vel's tiny hand, clutched tighter when the whole car rocked from Jacob getting something from the trunk.  
  
"What'sa panic room?" he asked, swinging Dean's hand once to get his attention. "Sam said we should go in there but we're already here and the door closed."  
  
Dean smiled tiredly. “You’ll see. I made it special.” There was a glint in his eyes. “When I was big enough to fix _all_ this up.” He gestured broadly around the interior.  
  
The slam of the trunk signaled that soon they wouldn’t have Jacob around the car to guard it, so Dean and Vel took point of the little group of sprites and nestlings. He led them under the seat quickly, wanting to stay out of sight from possible curious passerby. With Sam out keeping an eye on Jacob, they lost their convenient early-detection alarm, an ability Dean appreciated all the more now that he was on the sprites' level.  
  
“I built the panic room myself,” Dean explained, glancing at the other sprites to keep them all focused and attentive. He pointed towards the formerly-little metal box that lay nestled under his seat, marveling that _he_ would be the one taking shelter in it.  
  
That had not been the plan when he first built it.  
  
“Solid steel,” Dean said, knocking on the side when he reached it. “Soldered to the bottom so no one else can get in, not even _me_ unless Sam opens it up.” He pushed at the door, then faltered when his ribs sent a spark of pain up his spine.  
  
Rischa's eyes opened wider, suddenly alert, and she straightened next to Bowman. Before she could draw any attention to Dean's pain, however, another young nestling crept closer. He put his hand on the edge of the door where Dean had tried to push it aside, feeling the texture of the metal.  
  
Following the example, the others reached out to touch the panic room, too. Even the young wraith sprite, who wasn't as awestruck by the sight of metal as the others, glanced over the panic room curiously.  
  
Bowman was the one to figure out the door, curious despite trying to let the others explore first. "You _made_ this?" he asked, impressed.  
  
"It's fun! Lookit how straight the corners are!" one little girl exclaimed, pointing at the top of the room. Dean's workmanship showed true, making right angles of the metal. To the wood sprites, it might as well be an alien spaceship.  
  
Bowman reached out a wing to nudge one of the nestlings wandering around the side. "Hey, stay close," he warned. "We're supposed to go in there, right? Nestlings first."  
  
“Everyone in,” Dean agreed with Bowman, making his voice stern despite the temptation to grin at their fascination.  
  
To put action to words, he brought Vel into the small chamber, blinking in the hazy darkness under the seats. Thin slits along the sides of the panic room let in light and air, and Dean could remember first making them, brushing away the metal splinters as he cut into the thin sheets at Bobby’s. Until the entire setup was cleaned up, he hadn’t let Sam anywhere close to the car, under the pretense of ‘repairs.’  
  
Despite the fact that Dean had made this room, this was his first chance to _really_ see it, the way it was meant to be seen. A handkerchief was piled in the corner, offering something comfortable for long stays, and a granola bar and a small bottle of water, regularly switched out by the brothers, provided emergency supplies. The last addition, something Dean had thought up, would normally be the roll of hundreds tucked into the corner. They could keep an emergency stash of cash on hand that no one but Sam could ever reach.  
  
Currently, the emergency stash was down to only one hundred dollar bill, leaving Dean to wonder what in the world Sam had spent it on.  
  
Dean pointed things out for the sprites. “Once everyone’s in we’ll lock it up,” he explained. “This place is sealed tight.” He tapped a knuckle on the walls. “Devil’s traps to keep demons out, and the walls are solid enough to keep any humans out until we can get out.”  
  
Kicking the handkerchief away, Dean revealed the trap door. “This leads under the car, hidden from sight. Sam can get in and out without any help from me.”  
  
Bowman was the last one into the panic room, wings fanned partway open to help herd the younger sprites. He eyed the closed metal room carefully, but helped Rischa settle down on the floor. He had to trust that it was safe, because they didn't have any other options. It might _look_ like a cage, but it wasn't the same.  
  
He stared at the trapdoor even as the other sprites investigated the other parts of the panic room. If he'd known about that a year ago, he might have caused Sam and Dean much more trouble. They had kidnapped him from the woods, not knowing whether he had a part to play in the lich's twisted designs, and he had been desperate to escape before they could take him away.  
  
He almost winced as he imagined finding that escape route, only to find an angry and still-giant Dean waiting for him at the other end. Better that he stayed in the pocket of that jacket instead.  
  
"This is everyone," he announced, sidling away from the door and making sure his wings were well out of the way.  
  
Vel grinned. His wings stretched gingerly behind him and he heaved a worn out little sigh. "Gonna go _home_ soon," he said, his voice heavy with relief. "An' we even got to see Dean's car house ... does it ever roll away by itself?"  
  
Dean hooked the lock on the latch he’d installed, not bothering to close it. His ribs protested any extra strain, and they’d have time to lock it tight if the need arose.  
  
“She won’t roll away on us,” Dean explained in amusement, leaning heavily against the metal wall. “There’s a few safeguards against that ever happening. Until Jake takes her out of park, we ain’t going anywhere.”  
  
True to Dean's word, the Impala stayed still as they all settled down to wait. The heat inside the closed off car was stuffy at first, but it offered some comfort as it relaxed the small group. The Impala kept them safe, a group of refugees far from their home and from their families.  
  
Rischa dropped off to sleep leaning against the metal wall. Vel, still clinging to the keys Dean had entrusted to him, fought to keep his eyelids open, while the last three young sprites dozed off leaning against each other. The occasional weak flutter of wings broke their stillness. Even the young wraith sprite's quills, a contrast to the leafy wings around him, twitched in time with whatever he dreamed.  
  
Bowman preened gingerly at his sore wings to pass the time. "Is Birdie's Prayer still holding up?" he asked, glancing over Dean's weary slump. "I can't do the same, but if you need an energy boost I can try it."  
  
Dean waved him off, wearily continuing to lean against the wall of the panic room. Behind him, Latin script detailed the walls in red, warding it from demons. The brush strokes looked clumsy from this new angle, but the symbols held the strength in them more than any artistic ability of Dean’s.  
  
“ ‘M good,” he mumbled. “You need that energy more than me, flyboy.”  
  
Bowman rolled his eyes and barely resisted correcting Dean on the new nickname. At the very least, it was a good sign that Dean could tease about something at all. It had only been a short time since he was curled up in terror, trapped in a cage the same as Bowman. He never should have had to learn firsthand why sprite-sized folk feared cages, but they couldn't erase it now.  
  
"Later, then," he shot back. "You're not getting out of everything. We all went through a storm."  
  
“Try it,” Dean responded, briefly rising to the bait before slumping back against the wall. There wasn’t enough energy left in him to keep up any decent argument. Letting himself slide down the wall to sit, Dean let his head rest against the wall, eyes fluttering closed. “Just glad to be home,” he murmured, close to drifting off there and then.  
  
The panic room fell into silence after that. Bowman didn't have it in him to snark at Dean any further, so he preened his wings in silence and kept an eye on the others. Vel, especially worn out after long weeks out of the sun, finally gave in and lay down. His hand tugged a weak wing over himself, and he clung to the edge even though it wasn't fluttering like it should be. There was a faint sense of calm among them all for once.  
  
Until Bowman's ears pricked to a sound somewhere outside. Dirt and grass rustled against something in a hurried pattern. Before Bowman could think to nudge at Dean, a loud double-knock echoed from somewhere above.  
  
The door of the car creaked open next, drawing Rischa out of sleep. "Jacob's back?" she murmured, rubbing at her eyes.  
  
Dean patted Vel on the side to let him know he was moving, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. By the time he made it to the door, a much smaller pair of knocks echoed from their emergency entrance.  
  
Pulling the lock off, Dean tossed it into the pile of money, and the door opened, Sam tugging it free. He grinned brilliantly to see everyone still safe and sound, especially his older brother.  
  
“We took care of the scientist,” Sam said pleasantly. “Jacob’s waiting for everyone to come out from under the seats before he comes in, so he’ll be able to spot us. Once we get back to the room, there’ll be food and sun for everyone, so let’s get a move on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no better way to shock Dean back to his usual self than to remind him that they kinda sorta tore out the Impala's guts... just a bit. Only enough so they could drive her!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** November 1st, 2020 at 9pm.


	44. Bowman's Secret Off Switch

Chiding them all out of the room, Sam plucked up the sleepy Vel to drop him on Dean’s shoulders, then wrapped an arm around his older brother’s side to give him support. The Winchesters lead the way out from under the seats, all _three_ of them.  
  
Just as Sam had promised, Jacob was waiting outside the car when they first emerged from under the seat. He knelt near the open door, but he didn't have room to worry about whether he looked weird. As he counted up the tiny sprites appearing behind Sam and Dean (and the one taking a piggyback ride), he only felt more and more relieved. They were all there, right in front of him.  
  
And he'd seen to it himself that the man who made them vanish couldn't do that again.  
  
He offered a smile once they were all in view. "Ready to get going?" he asked, his deep voice a low rumble no matter how he tried to keep his volume down.  
  
He almost moved to stand and get into the car at last, but froze as a thought finally occurred to him. He had broad shoulders, but definitely not enough room for six sprites and two tiny Winchesters. "Do you all want to move up to the seat? I can grab a bag for some extra padding."  
  
Dean nodded, better able to push past Jacob’s size now that he was away from the basement and the cage, surrounded by friends. “Maybe some shirts from the duffel,” he said. “Last time I drove with a group, they all stayed inside until we got to Bobby’s.”  
  
“If he drives slow, we should be fine,” Sam chimed in, the resident expert in riding a giant car at ‘sprite-sized.’ “Plenty of time to react, and Bowman and I will keep an eye on the kids. They won’t wander on us, right?” He looked around at all the sprites, smiling.  
  
The nestlings all shook their heads with varying levels of emphasis. Even Rischa joined in, looking like a child again after days of acting older than she was. "We won't wander," she promised.  
  
"Where're we gonna go? What's Bobby's?" another girl asked, the one who had vanished just before Jacob arrived in Wellwood.  
  
Bowman shrugged. "We're going to a human dwelling for now," he explained the best he could. "We can get better before heading home."  
  
Jacob nodded. "I'll grab some cushioning and then you'll all see it for yourselves, how's that sound?"  
  
He rose with a chorus of "Okay!" from the nestlings. With input from Sam (and even some from Dean), he set up a bag on the passenger side of the bench seat complete with spare clothes to cushion the small passengers. Only when he was sure it wouldn't jostle them all around as he drove did he return, offering huge but careful hands.  
  
"When we get you all settled at the motel, I'll run and get some fruits, even some you _never_ see in Wellwood," he promised.  
  
“So long as there’s a cheeseburger in all that,” Dean grumbled, finding it far easier to concentrate on food to look forward to than the hands he was walking onto.  
  
“We won’t force you to eat healthy,” Sam teased as he made sure everyone was on first before stepping up next to Dean and Vel and signaling Jacob the ‘all-clear.’  
  
“Hang on for me bud, alright?” Dean called, tightening his grip on Vel’s tiny leg that hooked over his shoulder.  
  
Vel nodded, and then remembered Dean couldn't see him and said, " 'Kay. I'm taller than everyone! 'Cept Jacob!" As he said it, his hands clutched at the collar of Dean's jacket to better anchor himself.  
  
"Jacob cheats anyway," Bowman chimed in.  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows, but didn't fall for the bait. With his hands so crowded, he couldn't even curl a thumb inwards to nudge Bowman's wing in retaliation. It was the perfect time for Bowman to shit-talk with impunity. Jacob settled for a shrug, somehow managing to avoid letting the motion move his hands more than a twitch.  
  
"Up we go," he warned, before lifting the group off the floor of the Impala. He kept an eye on Vel, teetering higher than any of the others up on Dean's shoulders, but needn't have worried. His hands stayed steady all the way to the bag he'd prepared.  
  
Bowman stepped down first and almost immediately stumbled on the soft folds of cloth. Even as he held out a hand to start helping the others, he shot Jacob a glare that dared him to comment on it.  
  
Sam and Dean followed, both able to keep balance, though Sam paused to make sure Dean wouldn’t tumble over. With the injury there was no way to be sure he’d be okay.   
  
Dean sat down, pulling Vel off his shoulders and having the kid sit on his lap again, then glared at Jacob. “ _Don’t_ ride the brakes,” he lectured. “Bad enough I have to put the car back together after this. Treat her like a lady.”  
  
He missed spotting the way Sam rolled his eyes indulgently at the insistence.  
  
Jacob didn't miss it, but he managed to keep his focus on Dean and nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied, without a hint of any sarcasm in his voice. He had a chance at making a better impression, and he leapt at it.  
  
He was self conscious as he settled into the driver seat, all but looming over the bag full of sprites and miniature hunters. He had to avoid Dean's sharp gaze the best he could when he leaned down to get the car started again, since the keys were currently too small for him and held carefully in little Vel's hands.  
  
The car rumbled to life and more than one pair of wings twitched in alarm. Vel almost dropped the keys and grabbed the edge of Dean's jacket with wide eyes.  
  
"That's just how cars sound," Rischa said gently, consoling the other nestlings. "They have to make a lot of noise to carry around all this metal!" The other little girl, much younger than her, nodded and sheepishly brushed at a startled tear at the corner of her eye.  
  
With Jacob hyper-aware of the critical gaze on him from the improvised nest of shirts, the car pulled away from the curb to leave that house behind for good.  
  


* * *

  
The trip to the motel didn't last long. Once they were over the scare from the engine rumbling to life, the nestlings had some time to look around and count the clouds out the window, or push around the folds of the thick, soft fabric.  
  
Getting everyone inside would be tricky. Jacob opted to have them all stay in the bag and he could carry that to keep anyone else from spotting his tiny charges.  
  
That plan did _not_ come without plenty of snark from Bowman, but eventually he allowed it.  
  
Jacob carried the bag like a glass figurine. Though he was smoky and dirty from disposing of the sorcerer's body, and splatters of blood had dried on his shirt, he had no mind for how he looked. He couldn't risk a single distracted step.  
  
The bag settled down on one of the beds, and Jacob left it to go to the window. The thicker curtains opened wide while the thinner extra curtains remained closed, letting a mottled sunbeam fall onto the bed without risking someone seeing more than a blur from outside.  
  
Sam took charge of getting everyone out, motioning them to the edge that sagged to the side. He held down the lip of the duffel bag, pliant to his touch with all the regular supplies tossed out and left back in the Impala, and motioned Bowman to go first so he could help the kids get out from the other side.  
  
Dean and Vel were the second to go after Bowman, both battered and weary but glad to see free air. The motel room at the colossal height was a sight Dean was still adjusting to, and Vel had never seen such a place, so Dean kept up a steady explanation of everything they could see while he got the kid settled in the sunbeam, painfully aware of how much Vel needed that sunlight for those curled, sickly wings.  
  
Sam waited for everyone else to slowly make their way out, offering Rischa a hand up when she was the only other sprite in the bag with him, then climbed out behind them, taking a deep breath at the sight of everyone safe, where they belonged.  
  
Jacob stood back for a moment to watch as many pairs of leafy green wings flared open in the sunbeam. Everyone who needed it made sure they didn't cast shadows on anyone else, especially Bowman with his fully developed wings.  
  
The plushiness of the bed wasn't lost on any of them, and many of the nestlings lay right down on it, giggling when they bounced. Vel flopped over on his front with a grin, and his wings stretched straight into the air as high as they would go. "I like it!"  
  
Rischa looked over her shoulder to smile at Sam, a tired but grateful expression. "Thanks, Sam. I think we can all get better, now. With time." Before she could say more, the other little girl called to her to come sit with her and she ran over, a kid again for just a moment.  
  
Jacob finally wandered closer, keeping his steps cautious just like Sam had warned him even though no one was on the floor. He knelt down near the edge of the bed to count the sprites again. "Looks like everyone found a spot," he commented.  
  
Vel propped himself up on his elbows where he lay. "Human blankets have funny patterns on 'em," he announced.  
  
Jacob smirked. "Be sure you get lots of sun while you're checking out those patterns," he advised.  
  
Thinking to share some of what he knew, he glanced between Sam and Dean. "I think rubbing their wings a little bit helps their circulation, especially the little ones who can't reach like Bowman can reach his own wings."  
  
To demonstrate, Jacob reached carefully to where Bowman stood at the edge of the group. Despite a warning " _Jacob!_ " snapped at him, he brushed his fingertips over the back of Bowman's wings nearest the shoulders. Bowman's wings shuddered from the tickle and he promptly sat down, partially to relax and partially to try to duck away.  
  
Dean watched with some shock as Bowman’s complaints were reduced to nothing, and couldn’t hide a chuckle. “Dude, if I _knew_ he had an off switch, our last hunt would have gone _so_ much smoother.”  
  
Turning to Vel, and careful to not block the sunlight from the kid’s partially-withered wings, Dean held up his hands. “Like this?” he asked, carefully massaging them starting at the base.  
  
With a grin, Sam sat smack in the center of the rest of the kids and held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Who’s first?”  
  
Jacob grinned. While Vel settled back down with a contented sigh, other nestlings scooted towards Sam for their own turn. The relaxing effect of wing rubs was possibly one of the most entertaining discoveries he'd made about the wood sprites since meeting Bowman.  
  
Bowman slapped his hand away with one wing and shot him an accusing glare. "Are you just gonna tell every human you know?" he snipped.  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows innocently. "It's for the kids, Bowman."  
  
An argument that he couldn't counter annoyed Bowman even more, and he huffed. "Fine. Birdie, let me check your wings."  
  
Jacob leaned back from the bed and took in the odd group. Leafy green wings fidgeted now and then, but there was only relief on the tiny young faces. Even the little wraith, seated awkwardly among his peers with no need for sunlight, looked happier.  
  
Sam looked better, too, after days of watching him fret and work himself to the bone to find his brother.  
  
"If you guys have it covered, I should make a quick run for some food," Jacob suggested. "I can close up the curtains while I'm gone if you think I should. I'll try to make it back fast."  
  
Sam frowned as he judged the curtains to the room. The little green wings under his fingertips fluttered when he paused in his rubbing, and he got back to work while he thought it over.  
  
“If you close the outer curtain, some sunlight should get in,” Sam decided, though it went against his instincts to let _any_ light into a room. He’d grown up very different from any wood sprite, who thrived on sunlight and open spaces. “Keep the inner curtain only open a crack, everyone can line up in the sun.” He grinned as a thought came to him. “Like cats do.”  
  
Jacob smirked along with him, but soon some of the younger sprites looked at Sam quizzically. Bowman, Rischa, and the wraith sprite knew what a cat was, but no such creature had ever prowled Wellwood.  
  
"Whassa cat?" Vel asked, half mumbling into the blankets.  
  
The wraith answered. "It's an animal that humans have sometimes. Sometimes they wanna chase us but sometimes they'll just lay in the sun and be fat."  
  
Jacob moved to stand. "You can all do that and not worry about any chasing. Sam already checked the room, no cats in sight."  
  
Bowman rolled his eyes even as Jacob stood to take care of the curtains like Sam had instructed. "Why would a ... a mo-tell have a catbeast anyway?"  
  
“Well, because they keep pests out,” Sam explained honestly. “Rats and bugs, stuff people don’t like living in their walls.” He left out mice and borrowers. Cats would chase people their size as fast as anything else that was small enough to hunt. “This kind of place has to keep up appearances, or no one will stay here.”  
  
To reassure them, Sam pointed at Dean. “But you don’t have to worry! We have our very own cat detector!”  
  
Dean sniffed in offense. “Screw you too.”  
  
Bowman snickered, even without knowing what Sam meant. Any chance to tease Dean was welcome, after the human's antics in the past. Bowman hadn't forgotten "pocket time."  
  
The curtains rustled across the room and the nestlings shifted as the sunbeam on the bed narrowed. Vel pushed himself up and flexed his little wings, looking at Dean with wide, curious eyes. "What's cat etteck- cat detec ... how do you find the cats?"  
  
Dean sighed, unable to refuse Vel. “He _means,_ ” he started, with a glare Sam’s direction, “I’m _allergic_ to cats. I sneeze the second we’re in a house with ‘em.”  
  
Sam snickered. “I know better than to stand on Dean’s shoulder if I can see any cat hair around,” he confided in the other kids with a grin. “It’s like an explosion going off. And he sniffles and grumbles for _hours._ ”  
  
"Oh _no,_ " Rischa blurted, covering her grin with her hand while the other young sprites stifled giggles. They hardly noticed Jacob giving Sam a brief wave to signal the door opening, and then the human left. The key scraped in the lock, leaving the young sprites in the care of Bowman, Sam, and Dean.  
  
Vel scooted himself forward so he was back where Dean could conveniently reach his wings. "I'm glad they don't come and make us sneeze. It'd be like someone's making flour."  
  
Another boy nodded and chimed in. "Do you ever make flour when you live in the walls?" He looked to both Sam, the one human they knew had lived in the walls before, and then the wraith sprite, whose cheeks turned pink as he shook his head.  
  
Sam shook his head, agreeing with the wraith sprite. To the side, Dean resumed his rubbing of Vel’s tiny wings.  
  
“We don’t have the plants needed to make flour,” Sam explained. “Livin’ in the walls… you kind of have to make do with what you find. _Humans_ make flour, and lots of it, and some people like me I met in a field once. They had an entire cavern set up underground and they could make flour and cakes and bread, and caught fish for protein. They were a lot different than the home I lived in for so long.”  
  
"Underground?" Bowman echoed, just as caught up in the story as the younger wood sprites. He had learned a lot more about the world outside Wellwood, but surprises still cropped up. The thought of living under the earth baffled him as much as the thought of hiding away in the walls of human dwellings. "I guess that beats wandering in the open."  
  
"Then birds'll see ya," Vel said sagely.  
  
"Not _all_ birds are so bad. Sometimes ... the little ones just wanna play," Rischa pointed out around a yawn.  
  
Vel flexed his wings, careful to avoid smacking Dean with one of them. " _I_ wanna play," he admitted. " 'S been forever since I could."  
  
Sam smiled encouragingly. “Once we all eat, there’s plenty of time to play,” he reassured them all.  
  
With the sprites so rapt on the idea of living _under the ground,_ so different than their home in the trees and open air to fly in, Sam expounded on the small burrow he’d discovered at Bobby’s. “The ground dwellers we know live close to our friend Bobby’s house,” he explained. “They used to live _in_ his house.  
  
“Once they found out he was a hunter like Dean, they moved out, worried just like you guys that he’d hunt _them._ They didn’t find out until I came around that Bobby’s just as friendly, and doesn’t mind if they come back to stay.  
  
“The burrow is big enough for more people to live in, with small hovels carved out for each family.” He grinned wryly. “An entire _fluffle_ of rabbits lived there, a colony that moved on long before Arthur and his family ever found it. And their doors are open to anyone that needs a home. They told us to bring them anyone that’s lost.”  
  
With the sun on their wings and an interesting story to listen to, the nestlings were more relaxed than some of them had been in weeks. Even with signs of their tears lingering on their grubby faces, their eyes were alight with curiosity and contentment. Sam may as well be on a stage delivering a grand speech.  
  
One of the boys, older than Vel but younger than Rischa, raised his eyebrows. "Are we goin' there?"  
  
Bowman shook his head and nudged at the nestling with the tip of his wing. "No, we're not lost. Not anymore, at least."  
  
Dean ruffled Vel’s hair, as charmed as Sam by the attentive sprites. “We’re bringing you guys back home to your families first chance we get,” he reassured them.  
  
Sam smiled. “They’d welcome you all, but I bet your wings would throw them for a loop. None of us _ever_ met a sprite before. You can use the _sun_ for energy! They have to keep stores of food around to make sure no one goes hungry during long winters, and collected rabbit fur to keep everyone cozy and warm.”  
  
The novelty of such a place, a safe underground haven for sprite-sized folk, ensured Sam and Dean would have many questions to answer. Almost before Sam had finished speaking, another question was waiting on a young girl's lips. The broad surroundings of the strange room melted away as they listened to the stories. More than one pair of young eyes drifted closed as they rested in the sun and listened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The MOST IMPORTANT DETAIL to take away from this chapter is that a group of bunnies is called a fluffle (or a colony). That is all.
> 
> Happy November! All you Americans out there make sure to get out and vote!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** November 4th, 2020 at 9pm.


	45. A Feast for Sprites

By the time the rumble of the Impala returned just outside the door, Vel had shifted so he could lean against Dean's side and Rischa dozed on Bowman's lap. The double knock at the door startled them both awake.  
  
Jacob gave everyone a second, and then the door opened to admit him and the bags of food he'd brought back. He grinned at the relaxed huddle of sprites and hunters on the bed where he'd left them. He lingered back while the sprites rubbed at their eyes sleepily. "Hey, guys. Did I miss anything?"  
  
Bowman stretched his wings out behind himself in a greeting. "We had a festival while you were gone. Pity you didn't make it back in time."  
  
“What’s a party without food?” Dean said. Despite his lingering fears that prodded at him over Jacob’s size and the size of the room around him, he brightened right up at the prospect of a _real_ dinner.  
  
“Plenty for everyone,” Sam said, looking over the bags Jacob had. Even if Dean was his regular gargantuan self, Jacob had brought enough for a feast.  
  
Jacob held up the bags to emphasize Sam's words. There was enough food for himself and for the sprites (and, he hoped, for Dean once he returned to normal). At the bottom of one bag, a six pack of beers he'd been unable to resist was tucked away. He hadn't missed that Sam made him over 21 with the fake ID they made.  
  
He set the bags on the table so he could adjust the curtains again. The added sunlight helped the wood sprites wake themselves up just enough, in time for him to finally close the distance to the bed with the feast in tow.  
  
"You got way more than we can all finish," Bowman pointed out with a smirk.  
  
Jacob rolled his eyes. "I forgot to shop in the sprite-sized section," he fired back. "I got a bunch of things so _you_ don't get picky about anything."  
  
The teasing earned giggles from the younger sprites, but soon their eyes were on the huge containers Jacob lifted into view. He set aside two small styrofoam take-out containers, and then revealed a clear plastic container with mixed watermelon and honeydew cubes in it.  
  
"Uh. Speaking of sprite-sized," he mused, noting how each piece of fruit was probably half the weight of the smaller sprites, "you guys should let Sam or Dean help you cut a piece you can handle."  
  
“There better be something more than just fruit in those containers,” Dean threatened, eyeing up all the healthy food he could see in Jacob’s hands.  
  
Sam had his knife out, beckoning to Jacob. “I think we can manage to cut it down,” he said, grinning at the reactions. With a pause, he looked around at the bed. “But we might want to either put down some napkins or relocate to the table. This could get messy if I start cutting things up.”  
  
Jacob nodded and set the container down with the others. "Lemme just grab a couple towels," he offered. It would be easier to set up a makeshift picnic on the bed than to move everyone back and forth, especially with Dean and Bowman still nursing injuries. "Be right back."  
  
While the human rose to his feet to retrieve the towels, the sprites rose to their feet to inspect the containers he left. Vel hesitated near Dean to wait for him, but he stared at the fruit in the only clear container with interest. "I never saw fruit so _big,_ " he admitted.  
  
Bowman crossed his arms and tilted his head at the container. "Better than the dried stuff we've been getting," he groused. "That was _pitiful._ "  
  
Jacob returned with shabby but clean hand towels from the bathroom alcove, and soon enough one laid flat on the bed with the other, dampened with warm water, on standby to clean up any small hands that needed it. "Is this five star service or what?"  
  
“Perfect,” Sam grinned. He relocated to the towel and set up an area to work in with plenty of space alongside him. Beginning to dice up the fruit, he made small piles of each in front of him.   
  
The juices overflowed as he worked, soaking into the towel and turning the white fabric a myriad of colors. Sam ignored the sticky feeling in his hands, focusing on the food the children badly needed.  
  
While Sam worked steadily, Dean was having difficulty standing back up after sitting in the same position for so long. Along with his back feeling stiff, his ribs ached as he pushed himself back up with a wince.  
  
Spotting Dean’s trouble, Sam had a feeling he knew the perfect cure to the serious, withdrawn look on his face as he concentrated on standing. “Who wants to give Dean a hand?” he asked, his grin broadening.  
  
Despite their weariness and hunger, the question prompted the nestlings to all turn their focus on Dean instead. Vel's little wings, though they were so weak, perked up in surprise at the sight of the hunter's trouble pushing himself up. The plush surface of the bed wasn't doing him any favors.  
  
"I can help!" Vel announced. He rushed to wrap both of his little arms around one of Dean's. Though his wings stretched out and he stood on the tips of his toes, he wasn't big enough to help Dean up. Instead, he caused both of them to lose their balance. Vel giggled sheepishly and remained clinging to Dean's arm. "Oops."  
  
Barely a second later, a second nestling joined in, hugging Dean's other arm. She didn't even put in as much effort as Vel before she simply rested her forehead on his shoulder.  
  
Rischa put her hands over her mouth as the sudden waves of gratitude from the other children danced around them. In short order, the others, even the young wraith sprite who'd never met Dean before he was caged with the rest of them, had flocked to the weary hunter. A group hug formed with him at the center, one that Rischa had to join in.  
  
Bowman stood back and grinned as the human was all but overwhelmed by nestlings. "I thought you featherheads were joking when you said you'd have Dean carry you all."  
  
Despite the way the entire group of helpful sprite kids ended up going down with Dean in the center, Dean could only grin madly.  
  
For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to worry about being extra cautious with their tiny, fluttering wings and small bodies. He was the same(ish) scale as they were, so he could wrap an arm around Rischa and another around Vel, then try to grab all the rest into one huge hug.  
  
“Don’t act like you don’t want to be in this hug!” Dean called out to Bowman, his ears flushed red but unable to stop grinning.  
  
Bowman shrugged, and his wings mimicked the motion. "I think you've got it figured out," he shot back. Teasing aside, he was pleased to see both Dean and the nestlings smiling so much.  
  
Jacob knelt next to the bed and tried to hide his smirk. While the young sprites clung to Dean, Jacob busied himself opening up the other two takeout containers he'd brought back, allowing the steam and the aromas from both into the open air. His own food waited in the bags, but these were options for Dean.  
  
As soon as he managed to escape.  
  
For a moment, it seemed like the nestlings would be content to stay right where they were, relaxed in a pile. Then, Vel wriggled into place to get a hand behind Dean's back while one arm still rested over his little shoulders, and he helped Dean sit up again. "Don'tcha wanna see the food?"   
  
With a laugh, Dean finally managed to push himself up so he was sitting. “I’d love to, but all I can see is wings!” he remarked with a grin, slowly untangling from the pile of kids that had flocked to him.  
  
Sam jerked a thumb at the closest container, the one with the recognizable (and _big_ ) bacon cheeseburger waiting for Dean to claim it. From base to bun it was taller than either brother by a good inch, minimum. “I think you’ll like it!” he called.  
  
Standing took some work, but with his mind completely off his injuries, Dean had no problem getting to his feet. Spotting the burger sitting there, and the pie beyond it, Dean forgot everything else. “I think this size thing might have its perks,” he said.  
  
As Dean led the march towards the food, Bowman fanned his sore wings and rolled his eyes. "There's a lot of perks to sprite-size," he defended. "More food is just one."  
  
"Bowman, you need to come and eat too, stop teasing," Rischa chided him. She left the group of nestlings following behind Dean to grab his hand and pull him along. "There's new fruit!"  
  
Even with the huge burger and slice of pie casting a heat haze and thick aromas in the air, the fruit for the sprites had its own sweet scent that drew them in. This time, Sam became the center of attention, with his prepared portions of food for the grateful kids. In short order, they'd all claimed their own piece and settled down to nibble at something far more nutritious than what they'd been fed in captivity.  
  
Jacob, keeping an eye on the bedraggled group, smiled with relief. The fruit was messy in the nestlings' hands, but they had a thick picnic blanket underneath them to help.  
  
"If everyone has enough to eat, I might take mine to the table," he announced. In the village, Jacob tried to distance himself from the sprites when he ate his meals. Here, in a shabby motel room, it would be the same. "I'll grab some water before I dig in."  
  
"This fruit has so much water in it already," Rischa pointed out with a tired laugh.  
  
“Sounds good,” Sam called to Jacob. With all of the children given their own pile of fruit, Sam took the last few pieces for himself.  
  
Dean took his time next to the burger, carefully selecting a bit of everything and then haphazardly cramming it all between two pieces of the bun. The size only put him off a little; seeing a burger that rose over his head was unexpected, but he’d spent the last two years watching Sam interact with food like this. He knew the motions to go through with.  
  
Strolling over to Sam’s spot, Dean sat down right next to his little brother (who was currently also the _larger_ brother), and offered a bit of burger he’d put together.  
  
Sam nearly turned it down like normal, but he saw the hopeful look at Dean’s face, and the way the small snack had far more vegetables than grease and bacon. With a small sigh, he took it, dropping his chunk of fruit. “Thanks.”  
  
In an oddly familiar scene, Sam and Dean ate their food side-by-side, the way they were meant to, once upon a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’ve come so far to be here
> 
> Comments and kudos are writer fuel!
> 
> **Next:** November 8th, 2020 at 9pm.


	46. An Unsuspecting Bowman

Once Jacob retrieved water for them and then exiled himself to the table, the room fell into a companionable silence. It seemed that everyone had their own tension to unravel, and the food provided a good distraction. Small, leafy wings occasionally twitched and fidgeted, but the nestlings were too intrigued by the fruits to complain.  
  
Eventually, Bowman had had his fill. He brushed his hands off on the extra towel, and shifted so he could stretch his wings open without bumping someone.  
  
"Back in a motel," he quipped, eyeing the other furniture, the walls, the corners. It wasn't as overwhelming this time. "At this rate I'll see every human dwelling."  
  
Jacob couldn't help but overhear from where he sat. "Dude, it's not like it's a different motel. This has to be the same place you came with Sam and Dean last time."  
  
Bowman shot a glare across the gap between the bed and the table. "How can you be so sure? You weren't there."  
  
Dean waved that comment off. “No, definitely the same place,” he announced.  
  
“There’s only a few places to stay in town,” Sam pointed out, remembering their initial search for a place to stay before encountering Bowman in the forest and spending the majority of the case in the Wellwood. “This is cheapest.”  
  
“Hunting on a budget,” Dean said with a smirk.  
  
"A 'budget?' " Bowman echoed critically. His wings twitched in the sun and he glanced over to Jacob. The other human definitely recognized the word, so it wasn't made up on the spot at least.  
  
Jacob saw that Bowman wasn't the only sprite tilting his head. "It means planning how much money they have to spend," he pointed out. "Human thing."  
  
"Of course," Bowman muttered with a roll of his eyes.  
  
Rischa giggled. "There's lots of human things that we never see back home, but some of them can be fun."  
  
"I liked riding in the car," Vel chimed in. "Even if she growls real loud."  
  
Dean reached over to ruffle Vel’s hair into a mess. “I think she likes you back,” he said with a grin. “She ran nice and pretty on the way back to the motel, even if she _did_ have her wires gutted out of her chest.”  
  
This last was said with a glare sent Sam and Jacob’s way. Sam didn’t flinch, knowing they had needed to break into the Impala to finish the case.  
  
Jacob, in a contrast to Sam, was sheepish. Somehow, the glare of someone 1/20th his size was as effective as if they were talking face to face. Bowman's scolding was usually amusing and harmless, but Dean had all of his normal intensity condensed down. Jacob could understand being told off about breaking into Dean's car.  
  
At least they hadn't left his arsenal of definitely-illegal weapons just sitting around. That would have been worse than hot-wiring it.  
  
Vel patted Dean's arm to get his attention back. His fruit was gone, all but wolfed down in his excitement. He pointed at the second takeout container. "That one is warm, too. Is it made of meat?"  
  
The sight of the pie sufficiently distracted Dean from memories of the Impala’s insides ripped out. “ _That,_ ” he said proudly, “is _pie._ Fruit and pastry and a whole lot of deliciousness.”  
  
“There’s no meat,” Sam promised the other sprites that were curiously listening. “It’s dessert.”  
  
“ _It’s_ awesome,” Dean declared, pushing himself to his feet. “And this slice is bigger than _me!_ ”  
  
"And us too," Vel noted, catching the eyes of the other nestlings with a grin. More fruit caught their attention, but _pastry_ even more so. Vel stood and rose to his tip toes to try to see more of it.  
  
It still had a heat haze wafting into the air. "Can we try just a little bit?"  
  
Unable to deny Vel, Dean grinned his acceptance. “You can try _plenty,_ ” he promised. “There’s enough for everyone.”  
  
Though he was tempted to pick Vel up and carry him over to the pie with another piggyback ride, Dean didn’t quite trust his ribs to last that long. He held out a hand for the kid, and when they walked over to the container of pie, Dean only exerted himself to lift Vel into the box, and stepped in himself right behind the kid.  
  
This Jacob had to see. He left the remnants of his food at the table and made his way slowly back to the bed. Bowman made sure the other nestlings cleaned off their hands before they could wander after Dean and Vel, but Jacob's smile was fixed on the pie container.  
  
Vel stood in the corner of it with wide eyes. The aroma of the unfamiliar dessert was thick in the air, and when he glanced down at his little shoes, he wasn't even an inch from the syrupy filling. His wings perked up as he became more and more intrigued.  
  
He crouched down to poke at the filling, and drew his hand back in surprise. "It's warm," he determined, in case anyone was wondering. He had a dollop of cinnamon filling on his fingertip, and he tasted it without hesitation. "But good!"  
  
“ _Best,_ ” Dean said, breaking off a flaky piece of crust and an apple glob.  
  
Not even bothering to get out of the container, Dean just leaned against the bent edge of paper, ignoring the juicy apple-cinnamon that ran over his fingers as he ate. It was like a reversal of every nightmare he’d had during the last week. This could be his heaven.  
  
It didn't take long for the other sprites to crowd around the container. Jacob knelt to watch them intently, the youngest having to stand on their tiptoes to grasp the edge and peek over the side.  
  
He smirked and reached out to nudge Bowman on the side. "Help 'em out, Bowman. You can actually reach."  
  
Bowman swatted at his hand and glared. "I was gonna do that!" he insisted. "I was just looking at it for a second!"  
  
To prove it, he leaned carefully over the side of the container to break off pieces much like Dean had done. As he prepared each portion, the nestlings crowded closer to him to hold up their hands eagerly. Dean and Vel's unfiltered enthusiasm had enchanted them as much as the aroma.  
  
"I can help too," Vel chirped. He inched toward the pie, reaching out for a piece of the crust. His tongue stuck out in his concentration and his wings flared open as much as they could.  
  
He almost reached his goal, and then overbalanced himself and fell forward. Both arms were covered in pie filling. He sent Dean a bashful look before scooting himself back from the food and holding up his arms to survey the mess.  
  
Dean couldn’t hide a wince at the filling and apple that dripped off Vel’s front. Thinking fast, he stripped off his leather jacket, only slightly pained when he moved his chest at the wrong angle and the pain in his ribs flared up again. Tossing the jacket over the edge of the box, Dean scooped Vel away from the apple pie.  
  
“I think we’re going to need to clean you up after this,” he lightly chided the kid in his arms, brushing the larger portion of pie filling off Vel and wiping it into the side of the take-out container.  
  
“ _Everyone’s_ going to need to clean up after this,” Sam interrupted, taking one look at the filling that now stained Dean’s black t-shirt and wincing at the bruises he could now see that covered his older brother’s arms. Dean had likely left the jacket, heavy as it was, on all that time, to hide what he could of the damage.  
  
Dean and Vel made quite a picture, standing in the takeout container of pie. It was a marvel they hadn't gotten so messy sooner. While Jacob tried not to smile too broadly, Vel's fellow nestlings did no such thing. There were snickers among them, even Rischa, though she eyed the bruises as much as Sam did.  
  
Dean was in rough shape. Jacob couldn't let himself forget that in light of their narrow victory.  
  
"I can get the sink ready. Some warm water would probably do everyone some good," he offered.  
  
"At least the food's good," Vel pointed out, though his face was sheepish from his spill. With Dean holding him up, everyone could see the mess he'd made of himself.  
  
Folding his arms around Vel, Dean rolled his eyes. “Guess you might as well enjoy it since we’re both _wearing_ it,” he replied dryly, grabbing another piece with plenty of filling on top and handing it to Vel.  
  
Sam was there to meet him when he stepped out of the container, smirking at the mess. He prodded a finger at Dean’s arm, scooping up some filling. “Maybe next time you should use a fork,” he sniggered.  
  
Dean ignored him, drawing himself up proudly, mess and all. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was doing great before this little rascal got into it.”  
  
Jacob nearly chimed in his own teasing remark, and then thought better of it. It wasn't that long ago Dean was cowering from him, and even more recently he was giving him the third degree for stealing the Impala. It would take baby steps, and he could save the banter for another time.  
  
Instead, he scanned over the young sprites finishing up their own portions of pie. "I think just about anyone could have fallen in," he mused, noting the slump in their wings. "Vel just got _lucky._ I'll be right back."  
  
Bowman's wings twitched as Jacob got up yet again to cross the room. The sound of running water started up, and a curious part of him wanted to go and watch the sink at work. "He's right. You're all a bit of a mess, but Dean and Vel take the prize this time," he goaded instead.  
  
Bowman, unlike Jacob, had no qualms giving the shrunken hunter trouble. No matter his size.  
  
“Oh, well, in that case, I guess I have no choice,” Dean lamented, shifting so he held Vel in only one arm, positioned to enjoy the show.  
  
In one smooth movement, Dean scooped up a handful of pie filling and hucked it straight at Bowman’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Sam definitely saw that one coming. Bowman, not so much.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** November 11th, 2020 at 9pm.


	47. Cleaning Up

Bowman wasn't ready. He balked and his wings flared, but even though he put his hand up in defense, most of the pie filling sailed right past it. He reeled back in surprise as Dean's aim hit its mark with a _splat._  
  
Bowman's sputters were lost among the sudden laughter from the others. Some of the younger sprites already had some of the messy food on their faces, but now they looked positively tidy compared to Bowman. Even his wild green hair hadn't been spared.  
  
" _Dean,_ " Bowman complained, brushing at his face and eyes and making a mess of his hands. He sent a glare at Dean, but for once couldn't come up with a single snarky reprimand.  
  
Dean just arched his eyebrows innocently at Bowman, shifting a giggling Vel in his arms. “I think we all know who wins here,” he declared smugly, wiping off the last of the filling on the side of the take-out container and leaving a handprint in the mess.  
  
“I think everyone needs a good _wash,_ ” Sam interrupted, a grin plastered to his face at the amusement from Bowman’s now-bedraggled appearance. “Before you end up wearing more pie than you ate.”  
  
Bowman's wings bristled and he prepared to sling a retort at Sam this time, but tremors under his feet stole his attention. He looked up in time for Jacob to stop at the foot of the bed and raise his eyebrows. "So, I missed something good," he said, barely holding in a laugh. He knelt closer for a better look just in time to spot some pie filling falling onto Bowman's shirt.  
  
"Jeez, Bowman, y'know it wasn't a challenge to get yourself just as messy," he teased.  
  
"Pray to a rock," Bowman grumbled. Vel covered his mouth and snickered at the oath.  
  
Jacob rolled his eyes, but then offered both of his hands as a platform. "I got some shallow water in the sink for everyone to rinse off a bit. Won't be quite like the stream back home, but hopefully good enough, right?"  
  
"We can try it," Rischa said with a smile. "I think Bowman needs to dive in."  
  
Dean walked right past Bowman almost quivering in offense, taking another opportunity to ruffle the annoyingly _taller_ sprite’s hair before he could react, this time to a much greater effect than normal as it worked the pie filling into the messy green hair. “Yeah, _Bowman,_ I think _someone_ needs to wash up.”  
  
Jumping up onto Jacob’s hand, Dean winced momentarily but the smirk never wavered from his face. Sam joined them, rolling his eyes in resignation.  
  
Bowman was the last one to Jacob's hand, as he tried and failed to comb the sugary pie filling out of his hair. It only made things worse. He looked like he might as well have dived right into the pastry like Vel had. He shot Jacob a glare as he walked onto his palm. "You're lucky I'm not flying right now or I'd bop you," he warned.  
  
Jacob wrestled the smirk off his face with some difficulty. "Dude, I'm not the one talking shit," he pointed out. "I'm just helping out the best I can here."  
  
As if to prove it, as soon as everyone was on board, Jacob's hands lifted off the bed and his fingers curled to guard against anyone falling. It wasn't long before he brought them to the bathroom alcove, where the drain was plugged and there was barely more than an inch of water at the bottom. "Perfect for splashing," Jacob announced.  
  
Dean stepped quickly down, still unnerved by the idea of being _on a hand_. Lowering Vel, he assessed the damage.  
  
“You might want to just jump in with your clothes on,” he mulled, considering how much faster Sam’s things dried compared to his own.  
  
“He’s not the only one,” Sam commented to the side, giving Dean’s pie-covered shirt a _look_.  
  
As the others stepped down, Rischa glanced over the faces of the young nestlings with her. "We're all a bit dirty," she noted with a strain of solemnity. Between being kidnapped and caged, the kids needed the soak. Even she, who had only been captive a few days, could feel the strange sensation of dried tears on her face.  
  
"We can just play in the water a while!" Vel agreed, already fidgeting before Dean had let him all the way to the counter. "It'll be fun."  
  
"Might want to get your shoes off first, kid," Bowman noted, before any of them could get to the edge. "Unless you want to feel like you're walking in mud after."  
  
The youngest girl there wrinkled her nose. "No way!"  
  
Jacob smiled to himself as Bowman and Rischa took to the task of helping the nestlings set their absolutely tiny shoes aside. He'd have to avoid sighing so he wouldn't blow them all away. "I'll play lifeguard since I won't fit in the pool," he joked, nudging at Bowman's side. "Don't forget to let your wings soak. I can always replace the water if it gets cold."  
  
Dean untied his boots, leaving them with the sprites’ lightweight shoes. Even with his size diminished, the boots looked like they had heft to them. Since his socks were _mostly_ clean, and he didn’t want to walk around in wet socks anymore than the others, he stuffed his socks into the boots.  
  
Patting down his pockets, Dean realized that, aside from his colt, all the rest of his stuff was hanging in his leather jacket, draped over the to-go box of pie. Fine for now, when he didn’t want his wallet or keys getting in the water, but he’d have to fetch it before long. The motel room didn’t feel as warm as it had the last time they stayed in town.  
  
Dean only removed his watch after that, leaving the small brass amulet hanging around his neck. His watch had never looked so small as he held it, looking at the way the entire background of the room outsized it and him.  
  
Looking at the watch gave Dean an idea, one that had him smiling as he tucked it between his boots.  
  
“Let's get you clean,” he said gamely to Vel, sitting on the edge of the sink and holding out his hands for the kid, ready to slide off.  
  
Vel was quick to join Dean at the edge, but slow to actually set foot on the rim. His wings fanned inquisitively and he swayed forward to look in. Then, he let Dean help him up onto the edge so they could take the quick way into the shallow pool. He took a seat in front of Dean so he could cling to one strong arm as they scooted forward just enough.  
  
As soon as they broke the surface, water splashed up and hit Vel right in the chest. "Ah, it got me!" he announced with a laugh.  
  
Up at the top, the other nestlings were intrigued. When they clambered into the sink, they controlled their slides as much as they could, with the young wraith even flaring his quills so they rasped against the ceramic.  
  
Sam didn’t bother taking off his boots, not planning on jumping in the water unless he was needed. Sitting on the rim of the sink, he put his satchel to the side.  
  
It was good to see Dean smiling. Even with those bruises covering his arms, the older hunter was grinning as he attempted to scrub the pie out of Vel’s clothing and hair, declaring they couldn’t take the kid home to his mom if he looked like he was wearing pastry. A few times, Sam had seen how good his brother was with children, and now he wished that there was a way for them to have normal lives. Something torn from them the moment their mother had died, whether their father had known it or not.  
  
Winchesters weren’t meant to grow old peacefully.  
  
Spotting Bowman still out of the water, Sam grinned at him. “Afraid to get wet?” he called out. The sprite was always a good way to keep his thoughts from growing too grim.  
  
Bowman's wings bristled. "No!" he shot back. "I was just making sure the nestlings got in first."  
  
"If you don't feel like sliding, I can just carry you in," Jacob teased, joining Sam without any effort. He grinned even as Bowman glared up at him.  
  
"Don't you dare," Bowman warned. Then, as if to prove them both wrong, he kicked off his own boots and sat himself on the edge of the sink, watching to make sure he wouldn't land on any of the kids splashing in the water and scrubbing at their arms.  
  
Before he could prepare himself, Jacob nudged at the small of his back. Bowman's arms and wings both flailed open as he slipped into the water, and he sent a spray of water into the air with one surprised wing.  
  
Rischa laughed from where she stood at the other end of the pooled water. "Bowman, just because _you_ need to wash up so much doesn't mean you need to get us _all_ soaked!"  
  
Dean didn’t even bother standing to avoid the splash, resigned to his fate and the exhaustion from before creeping up on him. The water was warm enough to make the trip in the sink closer to a cooling jacuzzi than anything. Not so cold as a pool, so adjusting took no time at all.  
  
“I think that’s the rest of it,” he said, finishing up with Vel’s hair and moving onto his own. Dean didn’t bother just wetting his arms, he let himself fall backwards, fully immersed in the water to get the sticky filling off.  
  
Vel held up his hands as Dean's splash threw water into the air. He laughed and sat back so he could splash his wings in the water. The warm water soothed the weak limbs, and it didn't take long for the others to notice and try it themselves. Soon enough, the nestlings were cleaned off and were just playing in the water instead.  
  
Bowman had to crouch down and dip his whole head under water, thanks to Dean's antics. He scrubbed what he could before straightening again. He shot a glare at the reclining human, but then rolled his eyes. "Don't fall asleep here," he warned.  
  
Dean’s lips just curled up into a smirk, and he sat up out of the water at last, shaking his head off to fling the glistening drops in all directions. “Don’t you worry ‘bout me, flyboy.”  
  
With the filling gone, Dean stood and splashed any remnants off, shaking what he could of the water off before assessing the edge of the sink in a plan to get out of the bowled containment.  
  
This was giving him a whole new appreciation for how prepared Sam was on a day-to-day basis.  
  
Jacob, keeping close to the sink without looming, noticed Dean eyeing the edge. In contrast to him, the sprites seemed content lingering in the warm water (or they were too zoned out to care). Jacob raised his eyebrows and tried to catch the little guy's eye.  
  
"Feel like hopping out?" He glanced to Sam. Sam would probably already have climbed out if he wanted to, but it wasn't likely that Dean had all the same skills.  
  
Even if he did, he was injured. "I can give you a lift, or find you something to climb out on."  
  
Dean frowned, not a fan of his options. “Climbing ain’t happenin,’ ” he admitted begrudgingly, putting a hand against his tender chest. Rischa’s prayer earlier on had done wonders for the pain, but it wasn’t healed, only healing. Any exertion, especially the amount that it took to climb out of the steep bowl of the sink, could make the ribs even worse.  
  
“I can always give ya a lift!” Sam called from the sidelines, holding out his hands and wiggling his fingers with a big grin to break the serious mood. Dean sent him back a flat look, not knowing that his little brother _could_ lift him up effortlessly.  
  
It was easy to forget that the normally much smaller brother was actually relatively stronger.  
  
Jacob snickered. "Gee, Sam, you can dive in and drag him out if you _want,_ " he joked, letting the words draw out. One hand approached and it looked as if he was about to nudge Sam into the water like he'd done with Bowman, but he backed off before it became a danger.  
  
He could tease, but only so much. Instead, he lowered his hand into the sink so that his fingers were a ramp to his palm once more.  
  
"Here, dude. Just hop on before Bowman decides he's gonna try to dunk you in the water or something."  
  
Before Dean (or Bowman) could answer, Vel waded through the water and all but flopped forward onto Jacob's hand first. He had to kick his legs and crawl forward on his belly to get completely out of the water, but then he had a proud grin plastered on his face. "I can help, too," he announced, holding out a hand towards Dean as if he'd help him up onto the waiting hand.  
  
Dean shook his head in amusement, reaching out to take Vel’s hand and then instead sweeping the kid up into his arms as he stepped onto Jacob’s hand. “You can help plenty once you get more sun,” he reassured.  
  
Together, they were sopping wet, and a puddle of water formed around Dean seconds after he centered himself in Jacob’s hand for the lift. His pride smarted at needing the help to get out of a _sink,_ but his ribs thanked him, and having Vel to look after certainly helped.  
  
The hand waited an extra second to make sure they were settled, and then lifted out of the water. Vel waved at the others still splashing down below, and soon enough he and Dean were ferried to the side. Another towel waited, piled haphazardly near the sink. Jacob let his two passengers down right on the folds of fabric so they could dry off, and so his hand was free to offer anyone else a ride out of the sink.   
  
Vel looked over his shoulder at one of his wings and sighed. They were in worse shape than he'd ever seen them. "Do ya think they'll get better? Rischa said they would, but I never saw 'em like this."  
  
Dean spared a glance in the middle of toweling off his hair to look the wings over. “Rischa’s the expert, ain’t she?” he asked knowingly. Reaching over, he rubbed the base of one of the little wings. “You’re young, I think you’ll bounce back just fine.”  
  
Sam meandered over to the washcloth, waiting for them to finish drying. “How’s the ribs feeling?” he asked, trying to not seem too concerned, but unable to shake the memory of finding Dean collapsed in the cage. He crouched down next to the washcloth so they were closer to eye-to-eye than while he stood.  
  
So weird being taller than Dean and it not being a dream.  
  
Dean looked down at his chest, and shrugged. “Better than it was?” he offered. “The dude just kept… flicking me. Whenever I bitched him out for being a dick.”  
  
Vel frowned and nodded to confirm Dean's words. "He was really mean," he said quietly. "He poked us and squeezed us a lot, and he was always pushing Dean around just _because._ "  
  
Jacob's hand lowered to the counter again, this time with more sprites ready to find their own section of the towel to dry themselves off. Among them, Rischa zeroed in on the somber mood clouding around Sam and Dean and drifted over to them. Vel stood and rushed to hug her, and she wrapped her dainty wings around him. "It's alright, Vel," she told him. "There's no need to worry about that man anymore."  
  
She managed to escape Vel's hug so she could grab a corner of the towel to pat at her clothes now that she was clean. She eyed Dean thoughtfully. "Before I go to sleep, I'm going to Pray one more time. You and Bowman still need it."  
  
"Don't overdo it, Birdie," Bowman warned from where he was drying off his own hair.  
  
Rischa sighed. "I can just go right to sleep after," she pointed out.  
  
Dean nodded sternly. “See that you do,” he said, as insistently as Bowman. Ruffling Vel’s hair, he smiled slightly. “We’re not the _only_ ones that need your help,” he reminded her.  
  
Sam looked sadly at Dean, wishing he could have been there for his brother this entire time. Everything he learned about their time in captivity made something in him clench. At least the Mangas family kept their prizes in one piece. It didn’t sound like this _warlock_ had the same scruples.  
  
Rischa smiled faintly and nodded to humor the stern looks she was getting. As the sprites all dried off, she had to help some of the others reach behind their wings to pat off the water before the cold in the room set in. Some of the small wings were already quivering.  
  
Jacob waited dutifully for everyone to dry off before setting his hands down at the ready. There was no rush for anyone, but he wasn't about to leave them waiting on him. "Bowman, how's the wings after a bit of warm water?"  
  
Bowman shot him a flat look, but stretched his wings out to assess what was still sore. Rischa's earlier Prayer had done wonders for the pain, though he had some stiff joints that needed more time. He'd thrashed them against his metal cage far too much to simply brush it off. "I can make that glide, since you're _so_ pressed for space on your hands."  
  
"So ... we can go play for a while, now, right?" Vel chimed in, giving hopeful looks to just about everyone taller than him.  
  
Jacob smirked. "Didn't ya just play in the water?" he teased.  
  
Vel flared his little worn out wings as wide as he could. "In the _sun,_ I mean!"  
  
“So long as everyone’s on the bed together,” Dean said, unable to refuse the kid. “No one wanders without letting Jacob or one of us know.”  
  
This time, Sam stood next to Dean and Vel on Jacob’s hand, keeping an eye on Dean for any signs the older hunter was in pain. Aside from a few stiff movements that Sam knew would be enhanced the moment they got him back to size, Dean really did seem to be getting better.  
  
It didn't take long for the others to join them on Jacob's hands, and the trip back to the bed was underway. The sprites were quiet, but far from still. They fidgeted all the way until Jacob brought them to the sunbeam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably for the best that Bowman doesn't know that the correct response to having food thrown in his face is to also throw food.
> 
> There will likely be a short hiatus for Thanksgiving coming up, but don't worry! It won't be for long, just enough to enjoy the holidays.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** November 15th, 2020 at 9pm.


	48. Sleeping the Sun Down

The effect of the sunlight was quick. While the wood sprites of the group had plenty of energy just owed to finally being _free,_ having the sun on their wings brought a notable difference. Jacob had barely settled himself next to the bed before two of the younger nestlings pulled the wraith sprite along with them onto the covers to bounce across the plush surface.  
  
Vel, by contrast, practiced his patience. He kept hold of Dean's hand even as his wings opened again to accept the sunlight. He reached out to tentatively tug at Sam's sleeve. "I tried to be brave, just like you an' Bowman when that big thing was in Wellwood. Me and Dean stayed brave and I only got scared a _little_ bit. Sometimes."  
  
“I bet you did,” Sam said admiringly as he knelt down to give Vel a hug, brushing a hand over the little quivering wings as his arms enveloped the child. “You and Dean are some of the bravest people I know. _Everyone’s_ allowed to get a _little_ scared. Even me, sometimes.”  
  
Vel giggled quietly, though he could hardly imagine it being true. At times, especially when he was all alone in the scientist's captivity, Vel kept himself hopeful by imagining Sam, sprite-sized and standing up to giants. He and Bowman had become heroes against giant threats. Now even Dean had stood up to a huge foe.  
  
"I'm gonna keep being brave, then," he decided. Then, he was finally drawn in by the sounds of the other nestlings as they hopped around on the covers. "I wanna try it too!"  
  
Soon enough, Vel had darted off to join the others in celebrating. The room was quiet except for their claimed sunbeam, where the young sprites chattered with one another and flapped their wings in the light. Jacob kept a careful vigil over them, an eye in the sky in case one of the others missed anyone straying too far.  
  
Bowman stood at the edge of the group, his arms crossed and his wings hanging all the way onto the covers beneath him. He glanced over to Dean with an eyebrow raised. "Did you get enough to eat in between throwing food at my face?"  
  
Dean waved him off. “Plenty,” he grinned unrepentantly. “Not to mention, all the extra grub for seconds later on.”  
  
“Upsides,” Sam supplied from the side.  
  
“Guess it’s not _all_ bad this size,” Dean mused in agreement. “Food is a plus. Even with the weird textures.”  
  
Bowman wasn't sure what Dean could mean about weird textures. Then again, he'd never had to compare it at different scales before. His wings twitched as he forced his curious rebuttal to wait. "All the fruit you want, assuming Jacob doesn't get into it first."  
  
"You talkin' about me?" Jacob asked, finally tuning in from where he knelt on the floor. He was definitely the odd man out, and he felt more enormous than usual. "Hope it's all good stories."  
  
Sam looked up, far more casual around Jacob than Dean had so far managed to be. Understandable, considering Dean’s experiences and very small amount of experience at this size, but still sad.   
  
“Nothing bad,” Sam said to Jacob with a widening grin. “Just the usual wind and piss out of Bowman.”  
  
Jacob smirked. "Aww, gee, Bowman," he lamented, raising his eyebrows. "I'm wounded. Deeply wounded."  
  
Bowman rolled his eyes. "Dry your tears. You'll live," he shot back. "Probably."  
  
While Jacob snickered at the remark and kept the others partially distracted, Rischa quietly made her way back over from the other kids. Her time to blissfully play and simply be a child had to wait; there were echoes of pain in the room, and many of them came from Dean.  
  
She stopped to look up at him, for a moment, studying the details of him at sprite-scale. It was almost hard to recognize him. Hopefully he would return to his normal soon.  
  
"Are you ready for one more Prayer? I think it would help you sleep."  
  
Dean sighed, then nodded. “So long as you don’t push yourself,” he said, his one last attempt at resistance to her ministrations. There wasn’t enough energy in him to argue against the Prayer, and he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to try. There were small aches all over his body, and his ribs constantly burned after all the movements.  
  
Rischa smiled, though her eyes were exhausted. "I promise," she answered, before taking his hand. With her other hand, she beckoned Bowman to come closer, almost impatiently waggling her fingers at him.  
  
Bowman let her grab his hand, though he watched with concern as she murmured her prayer. Her eyes were closed for concentration. She had really waited until the last possible minute to try once more to heal them, but the magic felt as good as it always did when it flowed into their bodies. A renewal of the healing energy targeted Bowman's wings and Dean's ribs in seconds.  
  
After several seconds, Rischa sighed. Bowman saw it coming before she did, as her grip on their hands slackened and she slumped.  
  
Bowman dropped to his knees to catch her before she could crumple, and patted her slackened wings. "Good job, Birdie," he told her. "I'm calling your bedtime early, though."  
  
Sam looked over all the children and agreed. “I think everyone should get to bed now,” he said firmly. As happy as they all were to play, it was clear they were running low on energy. “There will be plenty of time tomorrow to have fun, and you’ll all need your energy for our trip back to Wellwood.”  
  
"Aww," one nestling lamented. She ran over towards the others and stopped to stare up at Jacob. "Can't we stay up?" she asked sweetly.  
  
Jacob snickered at the unmasked attempt to undermine what Sam had said when he was barely inches away. "I'm not in charge at all, kiddo," he told her. Even as she pouted at him for not bailing her out, Jacob settled a hand next to her and brushed at her wing with a fingertip. "Sam's right, anyway. You need some rest."  
  
The girl sighed in dramatic defeat. "Okaaay," she drawled. Jacob gave her another nudge towards where the others were gathering and she went back to join them.  
  
Bowman helped Rischa lie down on the covers in the sun, and she mumbled something contrary at him. "No, Birdie, you're gonna sleep the sun down," he chided her. "You all need to soak it in."  
  
Despite the fussing, it didn't take long for the young sprites to settle around Rischa on the plush surface, using each other as pillows and hugging close. Just like when they were alone and scared in their cage, they found warmth and safety together, wings rustling and fidgeting as they drifted off to sleep, one by one.  
  
There was a pause as Jacob waited to make sure he wouldn't disturb the kids falling asleep, and then he retrieved the last item out of his almost-forgotten shopping bag. He held up a six pack of beers so it was in view of the others and offered his other hand. "Want a ride to the table or somewhere?" he whispered.  
  
“Dude, _yes!_ ” Dean said, his voice kept quiet like Jacob but the excitement definitely there. If he’d ever needed a drink before in his _life,_ it was now.  
  
Then he paused. _Waitasecond._  
  
“How old _are_ you?” Dean asked suspiciously, looking Jacob up and down. The kid was big, but he had a young face, more open and unassuming than Dean’s had ever been in his memories. He looked over at Sam. “How old is he?”  
  
Sam’s eyebrows went up and his cheeks turned pink. “Over 21 with the ID I made him,” he admitted.  
  
Jacob grinned and there was a hint of mischief in it. "And that's all that counts at the register," he whispered. He was newly pleased with himself for thinking to double check the fake age. They all had an excuse to celebrate. "Don't worry, man. I'm almost nineteen so I'm practically there already."  
  
Bowman squinted at the beer bottles, and then frowned critically. "What's being 21 have to do with anything? _I'm_ not even 21 years yet."  
  
“It’s the legal drinking age,” Sam supplied helpfully, his cheeks still pink. “Which… I’ve never really paid much attention to. Since I’m not that young. Or human, really.”  
  
Dean gave Sam a flat look, then turned it on Jacob. “Live it up while you can,” he threatened. “Once I’m back to normal, that ID’s getting confiscated for your own good.”  
  
Jacob snickered, though he hoped he looked sheepish enough for Dean. It wouldn't be the first time he'd snuck drinks he wasn't supposed to have. He'd just never done it via fake ID before. "Alright, that's fair," he replied.  
  
Bowman scoffed. "Whatever you do with the ID-thing, at least there's beer," he pointed out, keeping focus on what was important. A smirk grew on his face and his wings fanned open. "And I think I'm finally good to fly somewhere, so what are we waiting for?"  
  
"You, dude. Lead the way," Jacob shot back. Even as he said it, he kept his hand right where it was for Dean and Sam. He was keenly aware that Sam could get himself anywhere in the room (or even out of it) on his own, but Dean needed to take it easy. That meant Jacob was a living taxi for him.  
  
Dean begrudgingly stepped up, Sam not far behind. It was nearly impossible for Sam to hide his worry as he saw Dean’s stiff movements, but he choked down any mother henning for the moment, already knowing what Dean’s exact reaction to that would be.  
  
“Good to go,” Dean said, motioning Jacob to get on with it.  
  
Jacob did exactly that, keeping his hand steady as it lifted away from the bed covers. His fingers arched to offer more stability for his small passengers, and he all but held his breath to keep them from toppling. Even with Sam's assurances, these two didn't have wings. They couldn't catch themselves from a fall like Bowman could.  
  
He paused once he was at his full height to raise his eyebrows at the sprite in question. Bowman carefully stretched his wings out to test them after Rischa's latest healing.  
  
With one last glance at the pile of sleeping nestlings, Bowman fluttered into the air for the first time in _too long,_ as far as he was concerned. He made his way up on sore wings, enough that he could glide to the table as Jacob reached it and set the beers down.  
  
"There's enough books here to hold the Archives," Bowman mused, landing next to a discarded pile of books that hadn't given Sam and Jacob any leads.  
  
“It was our best shot at finding you,” Sam admitted as he walked over, Dean trailing behind him looking lost among the giant items on the table. “We had that symbol to research, and dove into any lead we could find, no matter how flimsy. Bobby helped, too.”  
  
Dean surveyed what books he could see, unwilling to admit how much more intimidating _research_ looked from this angle. He cut his eyes away, and they fell on the beer in Jacob’s hand.  
  
“I need a drink,” he declared, but he didn’t wander closer, sticking to Sam’s side.  
  
"Right," Jacob muttered. He caught himself staring at the three of them wandering among the objects on the table. It was especially jarring to see Bowman prowling around the stacked books, observing their corners and lines. He might have visited human homes before, but the wood sprite was always out of place away from his forest home.  
  
He found a spot with plenty of room to set the beers aside and retrieved one of the bottles. He brushed condensation off the curved glass with his hoodie, and then pried the cap off with a loud _hiss_ of released pressure.  
  
Frozen, he glanced to where the nestlings rested. A few wings fluttered weakly and someone rolled over, but no one woke up.  
  
"Still got some foil in your bag, Sam?" Jacob asked as he prepared a bottle cap for the three smaller guys.  
  
Sam nodded, rifling through his satchel as he wandered closer. Behind him, Dean watched Sam shuffle through the bag’s contents with a fascinated gleam in his eyes, thoroughly distracted from Jacob. He’d peeked inside from time to time over Sam’s shoulder, both brothers pretending to not notice and both knowing what he was doing, curious about what Sam used on an everyday basis (and admittedly hoping to help Sam with those items, though his younger brother flatly turned down the help if he realized what Dean was up to).  
  
Pulling out one of his larger sheets of aluminum foil, Sam perched on the edge of one of the books closest to Jacob and began to tear it into thirds. “We’ll have to share,” he said to Dean and Bowman. “I’m a little low on foil.”  
  
Watching the cup take shape in Sam’s hand, Dean found no reason to complain. “Trust me, that cup’s plenty large enough.” If they were human-scaled, it might as well be a full pint.  
  
Jacob was just as fascinated as Dean, though he couldn't see nearly as many details. Aside from the jarring sight of sprite-sized people near books and a laptop and a beer bottle, he couldn't help but watch Sam's absolutely tiny hands as they worked the foil into a usable shape. It was ingenious and it was automatic for him. Every time Jacob thought he had smaller folk figured out, they came up with a new surprise for him.  
  
Bowman leaned closer to watch Sam work with the metal. He'd never seen metal so pliant and easily manipulated. Even he could manipulate its shape, once Sam handed him a newly-fashioned cup.  
  
He brushed his fingertips over the crumpled texture and his wings twitched. "I don't know how you made this metal so thin, but this will do," he determined. Then, with a broad smirk, he rounded on Jacob, wings fanning partway open.  
  
"This bottle is ours, in case you were thinking of sneaking it away," he warned. "You've got the others."  
  
Jacob leaned back from the table and put his hands up in surrender. A smile broke his attempt to be contrite and he shrugged. "Alright, alright, no sneaking here," he conceded. "Don't think I have much chance with all three of you keeping an eye on me, anyway."  
  
The second cup was handed over to Dean, and he was momentarily as distracted as Bowman was by the pliant foil in his hands. Not because it surprised him at how easy it was to bend, but because it seemed firmer at this scale than it was normally. He pushed at the edges, cleaning up a few small details Sam had overlooked in his rush to prepare them cups to drink out of, wondering what else they could use aluminum foil for at this scale. It could be molded into anything they needed, and would hold up better than it would for a human-sized person.  
  
“There,” Sam said in satisfaction as he finished up the last. “All set.”  
  
Jacob grinned and retrieved his own bottle from the six-pack, leaving the already-open one alone like he'd promised. He'd probably end up finishing that one off much later, but for now he humored Bowman's demand to leave it alone. It was like their own oversized keg.  
  
He lifted the bottle in a toast and nodded at the others. "Great to have you guys back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the children have been taken care of, it's time for the adults to relax!
> 
> There will be a hiatus from November 23rd to December 8th, where there will be nothing posting! Be sure to check all our previous stories, and make sure you're all caught up for when the next poll starts!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
>  **Next:** November 18th, 2020 at 9pm.


	49. Humans!

Bowman, unaware of the tradition of toasting, didn't echo the motion even after filling his cup from the bottle cap. Instead, he inclined his head. "Glad you found us when you did."  
  
Dean followed suit, so the cup was near-to-overflowing with beer. “Aye, aye,” he said in agreement, holding it up to tap the edge with Sam’s. Since they were made of foil, there was no satisfying _clink,_ but it was the thought that counted.  
  
“It’s a toast, Bowman,” Sam explained, a smile quirking the edge of his lips. His time with Walt had accustomed him to explaining certain idiosyncrasies from humans, when he caught his adopted father’s confusion.  
  
“To celebrate our win!” Dean declared, holding his cup out for Bowman.  
  
Bowman gave Dean a dubious, amused look, but mimicked him anyway. Their foil cups clicked together in a sound entirely unlike any Bowman would hear back home. He wondered if he ought to try out that human tradition with the other sprites. The nestlings would probably love it as much as they loved the high-five that Sam had taught them last time he visited the village.  
  
Humans. They were definitely an _influence,_ though good or bad was hard to decide.  
  
"We always win eventually," he said with a confident grin, finally taking a sip of the beer. At least some human things were well worth the exasperation.  
  
Jacob took a swig from his own bottle as well, and smirked at how much Bowman had already downed. "Hey, buddy, remember what that does," he warned. "Don't knock yourself out too fast."  
  
“What, can’t hold your liquor?” Dean said with a smirk, matching Bowman’s gulp with his own. “You and Sammy here will have to keep your training wheels on.”  
  
Sam had a flat, unamused look on his face at the reminder of his first time drinking. “That was _one time,_ ” he complained.  
  
“Not my fault you took a bath in the cup!”  
  
“You confiscated my drink! What else was I supposed to do, _let_ you?!”  
  
Bowman was just as unamused as Sam, though for reasons of his own. He was _holding_ the cup just fine. He glanced down at the amber liquid before narrowing his eyes at the confident smirk on Dean's face. Sam's plight finally caught up to him and his wings fanned open. "He was in your beer?"  
  
A nudge at his side drew his accusatory glare up to Jacob. "Good thing you never tried to dive in," Jacob teased.  
  
"I wouldn't try that! I wouldn't even fit in the containers you usually bring to the woods," Bowman snipped with a dismissive wing-twitch.  
  
"I'll just bring a cup next time, you can take a dip like Sam," Jacob offered.  
  
Bowman huffed. "How about I just bop you instead?" He pointed accusingly at Dean while taking another swig. As soon as he was free to, he kept up his tirade. "You probably need a bop for it too. People in your drink cups. _Humans!_ "  
  
Dean held up his hands in surrender. “All _I_ did was take his cup away from him. If he tripped down the pillow and landed in _my_ cup, that’s not my fault now, is it?”  
  
“It’s your fault that you went and drank out of it afterwards!” Sam snipped, taking a deep swig of his beer.  
  
Dean smirked. “Better watch out you don’t go drinking too much again, we all know what happens when you do. And you were _fine._ Probably one of my easiest jokes yet.”  
  
Bowman bristled, and above them Jacob raised his eyebrows. Knowing Bowman, he guessed what the little guy was thinking about. The first time they'd ever met, Bowman had been _convinced_ he would be eaten by a giant. Jacob took a drink and sat back to watch _this_ unfold. He could almost count down from three, two--  
  
"You _drank_ the beer while someone was in it?!" Bowman blurted. At the last second, he reined in his volume on reflex, even though the nestlings were too far away to have heard it clearly.  
  
"Blasted. Giants," he added with a frown. He knew now that humans wouldn't eat someone sprite-sized, but without a doubt he'd have panicked a lot more if he had been in Sam's situation.  
  
Dean dramatically rolled his eyes. “Sammy was _fine,_ ” he said, breezing past the entire issue. “Like I’d ever hurt my _little brother._ ”  
  
The disapproval still hadn’t left Sam’s face. “You _swirled me,_ ” he pointed out testily. “I couldn’t walk straight for ten minutes!”  
  
“Like you were walking anywhere at that point anyway,” Dean brushed off. “Serves you right for kicking me in the lip.”  
  
Bowman balked. A glance between the brothers told him that there was no exaggeration there. Sam had actually been close enough to Dean's mouth to kick it. "You--!" he started to scold, only for Jacob's voice to cut him off.  
  
"You should see _Bowman_ when he has too much to drink," he teased. Better to derail Bowman from thinking too much about someone being stuck in a glass, anyway. "If he tries to take off flying, grab a wing or he'll just--" he made a diving motion with one of his hands.  
  
Bowman flared his wings in offense. "I'm not that bad!"  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the little foil cup in Bowman's hand. "Just lookin' out for you. How much do you have left of that first cup?"  
  
Bowman glanced down, finding that the foil was empty already. Indeed, the distantly familiar feeling was already tingling at his fingertips. "I can handle more this time."  
  
Dean downed the rest of his cup and grinned challengingly. “Betcha can’t keep up with _me,_ ” he said, only slightly stiff as he stood and swaggered over to the cap to fill up again.  
  
Sam shook his head, only nursing his own cup. He knew better than to try and keep up with Dean. Just because Bowman was slightly larger than Dean meant nothing when it came to holding his liquor, and Sam wasn’t about to bet against the man who made a career out of bar hopping, drinking and hustling.  
  
A part of Bowman knew he shouldn't rise to the challenge, but it was almost nonexistent. The rest of him was already waiting to refill his own cup from the bottle cap. He awkwardly raised his cup like the first toasts and took another drink. His wings fanned almost luxuriously as the drink served to unwind some of the tension that had built up with their ordeal.  
  
Jacob was trying not to grin too obviously. Bowman was taller than Dean, but even Jacob could see that the willowy sprite was no match for him. Even without his quick sprite metabolism working against him, Bowman wasn't winning this bet.  
  
Not that Jacob would be the one to tell him. "You guys just let me know when the cap is empty."  
  
“That should be in no time flat…” Sam said, trailing off as he watched Dean chug his cup of beer and slam the empty foil on the book, just like he’d do with a can only without crushing it (couldn’t risk not having something to drink out of).  
  
“Show me whatcha got, flyboy!” Dean egged the sprite on shamelessly, wiggling his eyebrows with a broad grin.  
  
Bowman returned a confident grin of his own, and followed suit. His second cup of beer was gone in seconds, and his wings seemed stuck halfway open for balance. He didn't even notice. "I will out-beer you _and_ fly a victory lap around the room," he insisted.  
  
"Maybe just focus on that first part before anything else," Jacob snickered.  
  
“No drinking and flying,” Dean said, filling up a third cup. The only sign the alcohol was doing anything to him was a slight buzz. After drinking hard whiskey, often _Bobby’s_ hard whiskey, the weaker drinks like beer took a lot more to get him drunk. It was like drinking water.  
  
Sam was on his first cup and didn’t mind sitting out this contest, knowing he would be just as outmatched as Bowman by the older hunter. Jacob could drink _more_ than Dean, but that was just because he was bigger. If they imbibed the same amount, Sam’s bets were still on Dean.  
  
Bowman was the least prepared out of any of them to drink too much, and yet he stubbornly retrieved his second refill after Dean. As he straightened back up, he swayed backwards more than he expected and blinked. The beer was already affecting his system. He would have tried to sneak the lapse past the others, but a fingertip brushed at his back and kept him from toppling over.  
  
"Holding up?" Jacob asked knowingly. Two of those foil cups was about as much as Bowman had the first time he tried beer. The alcohol had hit him hard and fast then, and even his gliding was wobbly.  
  
Bowman opted to pretend he didn't know what Jacob was talking about. "I'm fine," he insisted. "It's good and it's not like you can tell me there's owls in _here_ to worry about, thank the Spirit."  
  
“You sure about that?” Dean asked, watching Bowman’s sluggish movements with a sparkle in his eye. “You might want to back down, let your body catch up to all that beer you just drank. Those wings look mighty heavy.”  
  
“No one will think less of you for not keeping up with _Dean,_ ” Sam said with a hint of warning. “He does this at least once a week.”  
  
Bowman frowned cynically at Sam, but couldn't come up with a retort right away. Humans _did_ have access to a lot of beer. Jacob had brought a cooler full of it on his first trip to Wellwood. Not to mention there were four more unopened bottles waiting in what he'd brought tonight.  
  
He flared his wings up slowly, though they weren't as steady as usual, and turned his focus back to Dean as he took another swig. "My wings're fine, thank you very much," he snipped. "See?" With some concentration, he stretched one wing forward to brush it over Dean's spike of hair.  
  
“Hey, watch it!” Dean complained, too slow to dive completely out of the way as his hair was messed with. He stalked a few inches back from Bowman for space, pointedly fixing his hair with a glare sent the sprite’s way.  
  
“Now _you_ know how it feels!” Sam taunted, grinning widely at Dean’s discomfit. He couldn’t even remember the number of times Dean had done the same to him; with a full hand when he was a kid and then with a finger after they reunited.  
  
Dean stuck his chin out, stubbornly refusing to take the bait as he sipped at his beer and gave Bowman a suspicious look.  
  
Bowman was smug as he drew his wings back. "That's what I thought," he taunted, noting the distance Dean was keeping. "Never doubt my wings."  
  
"No one does," Jacob chimed in. "I think Dean was just noticing you're a little bit _wobbly,_ dude." He reached out as if he might poke the edge of Bowman's wing.  
  
As expected, Bowman balked away from the contact, wings bristling. He stumbled farther than he meant to as a sudden dizziness overtook him, and when he came to a stop he was close to tripping on the book where Sam sat watching the antics.  
  
"Hey, I coulda spilled!" Bowman griped. "Watch it or you're next."  
  
Reacting like lightning, Sam gripped Bowman’s arm and hauled the sprite down. “Watch it or _you’re_ next,” Sam threatened playfully, forcing the sprite to sit and _stay._ His odd strength compared to Bowman did him the favor of making his grip impossible to escape.  
  
Dean snickered. “Least I don’t need a babysitter when I’m drinking.”  
  
Bowman frowned critically at the hand on his arm. Though he tried to shake it free, Sam's grip might as well be made of iron. Compared to Bowman's slight frame, built for dexterity and speed over strength, Sam was more than prepared. Even Dean, tired and wounded as he was, could keep Bowman in place if he tried.  
  
It was hardly fair. Bowman huffed and nursed what was left of his beer. "I don't _need_ a babysitter," he pouted. "Sam blasted _volunteered_."  
  
"I mean, it's pretty charitable of him," Jacob chimed in with a teasing grin. "Might have fallen on your ass if he didn't save you from yourself."  
  
"Pray to a rock, Jacob," Bowman mumbled back with a less-than-focused glare.  
  
“Watch your language around the kids,” Dean countered smugly as he strolled over and took a seat on the other side of Bowman, hemming the slender sprite between the two bulky Winchesters. His cup refilled, Dean sipped at it, savoring the taste now that the briefly lived contest had ended. “You never know when one will wake up.”  
  
"They're not gonna wake up from _me_ when I'm all the way over here," Bowman groused, though while he spoke he was inevitably drawn to the bed.  
  
The sunbeam was shrinking and fading as the day matured, but the cluster of young sprites remained exactly where they'd left them. They looked so small and vulnerable, out in the open on such a huge bed in a foreign place, but they were safe. One of them rolled over and a wing stretched, but they all slept on.  
  
Assured that they were okay, the snark returned. "I've learned some of your human swears, y'know. You made up entire new words for 'em, which would make them even harder to hide from the sprouts and the nestlings, just so you know."  
  
Dean rolled his eyes to the sky. “They’re not _new words,_ ” he explained in exasperation, “just because you never heard them before--”  
  
“Jacob, do you have those journals from the scientist?” Sam cut in, fiddling with the edge of his foil cup. “I should take a look at them before it gets too late.”  
  
Dean looked over at Sam. “Y’know, you _can_ take a night off from research,” he said in concern. “I’m back, let’s drink!”  
  
Sam shook his head. “As nice as it is having you like this, I’d rather have my giant back to normal,” he said, a sad smile in his eyes. “It’s not the same. It’s not _right._ ”  
  
Jacob smiled faintly at Sam's earnest answer. It was just like when they'd been researching before finding the others. Determined to the very last moment.  
  
"I think I tossed the papers in the trunk after ... uh, after we cleaned up the scene," he answered haltingly. The image briefly returned to him, the shocked face of the guy he'd killed, stuck in that expression forever. "I'll go grab 'em."  
  
Bowman swayed as Jacob pushed himself back from the table, and his wings bumped into the two on either side of him. His mumbled apology was almost unrecognizable, and he brushed past it quickly. "What're the chances Dean just," he waved one hand straight up in the air and snickered, "sprouts up."   
  
Sam snorted. “Based on our usual luck?” he asked dryly. “Not very. We haven’t had much luck to speak of since I was ten.”  
  
“I don’t think we’ve had much luck since you were half a year old,” Dean put in, remembering very faintly, at the very beginning of his memory, that fateful night where their mother and lives were snatched away.  
  
Bowman fell quiet for once. If it weren't for the Winchesters' luck, neither one of them would be sprite-sized and sharing a seat with him on the table. They'd tower over him with ease, probably with no idea that anyone so small could even exist.  
  
Knowing humans, and knowing Dean's first reaction to him, they'd probably have him trapped right now instead.  
  
Bowman was no stranger to bad luck himself, but he took a different approach. "You didn't turn out too bad for it," he finally said in his sluggish voice. His wings stretched out straight behind to avoid bumping into the other two, and then he settled them lightly over their heads. "You know, for a pair of humans."  
  
“Watch it!” Sam complained, trying to lean away as he found a wing his size draped over him. “Do I look like a coat rack?”  
  
Dean reacted the opposite. He leaned in, laughing as he hooked an arm around Bowman’s neck to drag the sprite down in a headlock.  
  
And gave him a noogie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Friends don't let friends fly drunk_
> 
> Also, it was only a matter of time before Dean took advantage of being at the same height as Bowman. 
> 
> There will be a hiatus from November 23rd to December 8th, where there will be nothing posting! Be sure to check all our previous stories, and make sure you're all caught up for when the next poll starts!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** November 22nd, 2020 at 9pm.


	50. Real Talk

"Hey!" Bowman grumbled. Though he tried to squirm away, the odds stacked against him and left him stuck. He was far more affected by the beer than Dean, and much leaner. Dean's strength might not match Sam's, but it was still enough for the inebriated sprite. "Lemme go!"  
  
Just that moment, two knocks echoed from the door, followed by Jacob returning from the car, assorted papers in his hand. He was only a few steps away before he finally noticed the scene on the table.  
  
He cracked a grin. "Bowman getting belligerent already?" he asked, while Bowman's wings twitched and he tried to squirm out of Dean's hold.  
  
“Try being annoyingly close,” Sam grumped, pushing one of the wings from where it was wrapped around him to free himself from the leafy appendage.  
  
He’d wanted a closer look at wings before, but this was a little _too_ close.  
  
“I could get used to this,” Dean said brashly, taking one last swipe at Bowman’s hair before releasing the sprite.  
  
"Don't count on it," Bowman warned, finally ducking away. With the distraction gone, he remembered to tuck his wings close without hitting the other two, and he rubbed resentfully at his hair. "I'll bop you next time."  
  
Jacob snickered. He'd never seen anything quite like it, so he logged away the memory of Bowman in a headlock. "You'll have to catch him and I think he always catches you _first,_ dude. That's what I hear."  
  
"Oh don't _you_ start," Bowman warned, crossing his arms.  
  
Jacob, not the least bit threatened, held up the papers he'd found and raised his eyebrows. "Sam, did you want to look at this stuff right now? Bowman will be out for the count pretty soon at this point, so don't count on him helping with any research."  
  
"Hey, I _could_ help!" Bowman protested. "I want Dean giant again 's much as anyone."  
  
“Just set them out for me,” Sam said, speaking loud so he could be heard over Bowman. He was thankful for an out from Dean and Bowman’s shenanigans, fairly certain those two could circle each other for days and never reach an agreed-on resolution to _anything._ “I’ll take a look at them when everyone’s asleep, there’s plenty of time. We should probably find a place for everyone to sleep.”  
  
He sent a meaningful look towards the sprite children all bundled up on the bed, and then at the other bed in the room. Aside from under the nightstand where he had his room set up, there weren’t many places for Dean and Jacob to sleep.  
  
Jacob paused in trying to put the papers in some semblance of order so he could follow Sam's gaze over the room. With two beds, a _normal_ situation would see them prepared for the night. Dean and Jacob, the resident giants, would take the beds and there would still be room for the sprites and Sam.  
  
 _Should have had the kids take a pillow,_ he realized ruefully. There would be no moving the nestlings now without waking them, and he wouldn't dare. They needed the rest.  
  
"Well, uh," he began, turning back to the others. He set the papers down on a clear spot on the table. "Guess we have a couple options, what were you thinking of doin?’ "  
  
“But I thought…” Dean trailed off, frowning at the options. “I’m not big enough for a bed,” he pointed out. “It’d be a waste.”  
  
“You can’t stay under the nightstand,” Sam countered. “If you grow back-- and we have _no idea_ when that’ll happen-- you’d get crushed. The table you’d just break, and the floor is generally a bad idea for any of us.”  
  
Jacob winced, remembering his near miss with Sam the other morning. As the reason the floor was dangerous, he had no trouble volunteering. "You should take the second bed, in case you do grow back overnight," he said with a gesture at the ample room on the extra bed. "I can camp on the floor, it's not like the nestlings are using their pillows." That way, at least, Jacob wouldn't be in danger of squashing anyone in his sleep.  
  
Bowman scoffed, bemused. "Wouldn't be the first time you slept on the ground," he reasoned. "I can go sleep by the nestlings."  
  
Before his wings could fan open, Jacob held up a halting hand. "Dude, just chill for a second," he warned with a bemused smile. "I'll getcha to the bed so you don't crash land. Just gotta let us get something set up for Dean, first."  
  
“You don’t have to go through all that trouble--" Dean tried protesting, half rising out of his seat.  
  
Sam’s hand appeared on his shoulder, gently pushing him back down. “Quit bitching already, you’ve lost this one,” Sam said, a sparkle in his eye. “I’m gonna grab some supplies from my room you can use, just keep Bowman here company, alright? He could probably use a chaperone.”  
  
Dean scoffed, crossing his arms in what was absolutely _not_ a pout. “Friends don’t let friends fly drunk,” he said pointedly at Bowman.  
  
Sam nodded with a grin, grabbing his satchel and leaving his half-empty cup of beer next to Dean. “Mind giving me a lift?” he called up to Jacob as he jogged over.  
  
Jacob barely needed the prompt. His hand was waiting for Sam as soon as the request was made, steady as ever. He glanced at the others while Sam climbed on. "Sit tight," he advised, mostly for Bowman's benefit.  
  
Bowman crossed his arms, unwittingly mimicking Dean's not-pout, as the human moved away from the table with ease. His wings twitched indignantly. "Blasted beer," he mumbled. "I like it but the 'drunk' feeling is weird. What human thought that was a good idea?"  
  
Dean shook his head in bemusement. “That ‘drunk’ feeling is the _entire_ point,” he said, thinking back to the days before he’d found Sam in his motel room.  
  
Just the night before that fateful moment, Dean had been moping at the bottom of his shot glass, trying to keep the nightmares away. Another disappointing night in a long line of repeats, nothing memorable, nothing noteworthy. His entire worth had been tossed into his job and how many people he could save. The rest was just a byproduct. The gambling, the women, he’d thrown himself into it all in his attempts to erase the memories of losing Sam, falling out with John, watching John and Bobby tear their friendship to pieces.  
  
“You’d be surprised how useful it can be,” Dean said, sipping at the remains of his beer and barely feeling the effects. Years of hard liquor left him practically immune to lesser drinks, something he’d left out during his briefly-lived competition with Bowman.  
  
Bowman mulled it over. He found where he'd set his own emptied cup down at some point, and picked it up again. The last drop glistened at the bottom and he huffed. As ornery as Bowman tended to be, he had heard something like that from Jacob before. That sometimes the idea was to become forgetful, or wobbly.  
  
Or bold. "There's a lotta things about human stuff that surprises me," he announced, waving a hand and a wing to gesture at the room at large as if it might be explanation enough.  
  
Jacob and Sam were at the nightstand by now, and Bowman shook his head. _Nightstand._ He'd never had the courage to ask why it was called that, the distant year ago when he'd first stayed in a motel room. When Dean had been a giant and had stowed Bowman in a pocket.  
  
He opened his mouth to finally solve the mystery, but then his eyes fell on the sleeping nestlings and another question entirely came out. "When Rischa was healing you," he began, flicking his wing in her direction, "back in the ... the monster den. Why ... why'dya tell her you're not _worth_ it?"  
  
Dean stared into his foil cup, suddenly wishing Jacob had brought back stronger drinks than the beer.  
  
Bowman had stumbled right onto the part he fervently hoped Sam never found out about. Sam was equally self-sacrificing, but something in Dean was not only willing to lay his life on the line, it told him he deserved it… he'd earned this, through all those screw ups and mistakes he’d made throughout his hunting career.  
  
One of which was kidnapping Bowman from his home and taking him away.  
  
“Just… couldn’t let her get hurt for _me,_ ” Dean said, unable to really voice these thoughts. “I can’t let any kids get hurt because of me. I’m the one who screws shit up, they don’t deserve to suffer for it.”  
  
Bowman let out a slow breath. Rischa's terrified screams when the scientist had finally found her out would haunt his nightmares for a long time. He couldn't fathom the way she saw the world, but he knew that coming up against malice like that was overwhelming to her to the point of being painful.  
  
That wasn't anyone's fault but the scientist's. That in mind, Bowman sat up straighter and turned his mostly-focused gaze on Dean.  
  
"That sun-hated giant woulda tried to hurt Birdie _anyway,_ " he pointed out. "It's not your fault anyone got hurt, you came to _help_ us. That makes you one of the good humans, you featherhead."  
  
His wings fidgeted and Bowman settled one on his lap to brush across the last lingering soreness in the all-important limbs. "Besides. Birdie's more stubborn than _me_ sometimes. You'll never get to decide for her what matters to her... or me, either." Bowman raised an eyebrow, as if he'd challenged himself with the notion. "I decide, Rischa decides, Vel decides, _Sam_ decides for our own blasted selves."  
  
Bowman had a confident smirk by the end. "S-so, you matter to us whether you like it or _not._ Giant."  
  
Dean’s eyes stung, and to his shock, he could feel a slight wetness in the corners. “Right,” he said thickly, trying to discreetly wipe at the edges without Bowman noticing. He swallowed, willing his voice back to normal.  
  
Just two years past the days his life had seemed so bleak, with nothing ahead of him but a death at the hand of a monster, he found himself with not only his little brother, but also _friends._  
  
Rubbing his face, Dean could finally feel the alcohol affecting him, keeping him from a steady voice. “I, uh, just didn’t really… expect any of this.” He managed to compose himself a little more. “Especially from a drunk flyboy.”  
  
Bowman nodded smugly. "Well don't you forget it," he warned, pointing a finger at Dean to emphasize his proud words. "Or I might have to bop you."  
  
He returned to preening his wings and dutifully ignored the shift in Dean's demeanor and voice. Instead he searched for more banter to balance the conversation again. It was harder to focus the more he let himself settle into the haze from the beer.  
  
In the end, he wound up stretching his wings restlessly. "Not saying I'm _gonna,_ but I could probably fly to the bed. Easy. It's only ... fifty inches away? Sixty?"  
  
Dean scowled, starting to shrug of his morbid emotions in lieu of realizing that Bowman might actually _try_ to fly. He went to stand, then paused and refilled his cup before plopping down right next to Bowman and slinging an arm around the sprite. “You’re not going anywhere until Jacob gets back,” he warned, starting on his new drink like it was his first.  
  
Bowman let out a surprised _huff_ of air as the weight of Dean's arm settled on his shoulder. At a twentieth of his usual size, Dean wasn't exactly _heavy,_ but he could drag a wiry sprite like Bowman right to the ground if he wanted to.  
  
As it was, Bowman sulked. His wings lay slack behind him and he shot Dean a glare for his trouble. "I already said I wasn't gonna fly over there, just that I could," he insisted. "You're gonna knock me over if you keep leaning on me." Rising to the challenge, Bowman tried to maneuver his wings under Dean's arm to try to shove it off.  
  
Dean snorted, prodding at the wing elbow he could reach. It was his first time really able to _see_ Bowman’s wings up close, and he stared unabashedly at the leafy texture, strong and thick when normally they seemed thin and light.  
  
“Just call it some insurance,” Dean informed him, not backing off. “You and me, waiting for the others to get back.” Struck by something Bowman had said, Dean also protested, “And I’m _not_ that heavy!”  
  
That got Bowman snickering. True to Dean's word, the sprite was in no danger of falling off the book. At least, so long as he didn't squirm too much to escape the arm slung over his shoulder. It was still fun to prod at his would-be chaperone. No amount of spells and shrinking could change _that._  
  
"Almost," he countered. "You're not your usual giant hundred-thousand-ounce self, but that's lucky for me or I'd never get up."  
  
“A _hundred-thousand-ounces?_ ” Dean repeated in disbelief. “I’ll have you know I’m _barely_ over a hundred-seventy pounds.”  
  
“Oh, is that all?” a voice quipped in amusement, making Dean look up in surprise.  
  
Standing a few inches away, having come back over without being noticed by either drunk person sitting on the book, Sam had a smile he was trying to suppress and failing plastered on his face.  
  
“Should we get you two a room?” Sam teased, getting a flat look from Dean, who finally let go of Bowman’s shoulder.  
  
“Had to make him stay in one place _somehow,_ didn’t I?” he complained as he straightened his shirt and brushed his rumpled hair back into a spike.  
  
Sam shook his head ruefully and turned to Bowman. “Mind if I borrow my brother for a bit?” he asked, patting his satchel, which was noticeably thicker than normal. “I might not get the chance to talk to him face-to-face like this again.”  
  
Bowman paused in stretching his wings out to peer at Sam. Beyond him, Jacob waited patiently near the table, ready to ferry people where they needed to be. "Sure," Bowman answered with a shrug, standing from the book. The brief dizzy spell nearly knocked him over again, but he blinked hard to keep his balance. "I'm gonna check on the nestlings now."  
  
He moved to walk past Sam towards the only current giant in the room. He nudged Sam's arm with the edge of a wing as he did, giving him one last grateful nod for the night.  
  
If not for Sam, Rischa could have broken under the pressure in that room.  
  
Jacob was already holding out a hand when Bowman reached the edge of the table. Bowman glared at him for show, even as he stepped onto the broad palm without fear. "Since you're insisting," he groused.  
  
"You bet," Jacob murmured. Then, leaving Sam and Dean to themselves for the time being, he carried Bowman to the bed to set him down near the pile of sleeping nestlings. It was good to see their tiny wings twitching in their sleep. They were all okay.  
  
Bowman plopped down to a seat next to the others. "Thanks, Jacob," he muttered. "You helped save Wellwood. Again."  
  
Jacob smirked and reached out to ruffle Bowman's hair with a fingertip. "We do what we gotta," he quipped. "You earned some rest."  
  
After everything he'd been through, Bowman didn't need to be told twice. He laid down close to the other sprites, and one wing stretched out over them like a protective blanket. Jacob lingered nearby to watch over the group as they snuggled closer under the false canopy.  
  
Sam and Dean needed some space to themselves, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bowman takes no shit like Dean thinking he's not 'worth' it. He will tell him like it is.
> 
> This hiatus next week is turning into time for me to recover from the finale of Supernatural! I adored the ending, but wow. It hurts to think about my boys no longer showing up each week to save the world. I'm gonna need some time before it doesn't feel like there's a huge hole in my chest.
> 
> There will be a hiatus from November 23rd to December 8th, where there will be nothing posting! Be sure to check all our previous stories, and make sure you're all caught up for when the next poll starts!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** December 9th, 2020 at 9pm.


	51. A Journal to the Past

Sam hesitated before walking towards Dean.  
  
It still hadn’t quite clicked in his mind that his older brother was now the same size as him. Short-term or not, it was a rare chance to see him the way he was meant to be. Slightly shorter than Sam, but built stockier, raised to be ready for a fight from the get-go while Sam had learned how to avoid starvation.  
  
Dean didn’t react as Sam came up next to him, staring blankly into the distance as he finished off his drink. He looked disconsolately at the empty aluminum, then balked in surprise as Sam plucked it out of his grip.  
  
“Does this even get you drunk anymore?” Sam asked idly as he refilled the cup and passed it over to Dean, a small thrill in him to see his brother’s hand take the cup in such a mundane, ordinary gesture, and not overshadow him.  
  
Dean had a subdued smirk on his face as he brought the cup close. “Not really,” he admitted. “But it was fun watching Bowman try and keep up.”  
  
Sam sat down in the spot the sprite had recently vacated. “You rigged the game.”  
  
“I played the odds,” Dean countered expertly, sipping at the beer now that he was no longer proving a point. “ ‘Sides, he could really use a good drink after what he went through.”  
  
“Same for you,” Sam pointed out quietly, looking to Dean’s arms, where bruises could be seen peeking out from under his shirt.  
  
Dean shrugged awkwardly. “ ‘S not that bad,” he insisted. “It looks worse than it feels.”  
  
Sam sighed, giving up that line of conversation for the moment. He wanted to focus on having Dean _here,_ with him, more than he wanted to think about what Dean had gone through to get there. “It’s good to have you back.”  
  
“Right back atcha, pint-size,” Dean shot at Sam, a bit of the mischievous glint returning to his eyes.  
  
Letting himself relax, Sam slid his satchel off his shoulder, placing it in front of where they were sitting. “I, ah… thought you might want to see this,” he said, stumbling over his words.  
  
Never once in his life had he ever thought he’d get the chance to see his brother eye-to-eye. The dream from the Earth Spirit had been a gift, far beyond anything Sam expected to have in this life. He’d spent years living in hiding, then years at his older brother’s side. Always smaller, always listened to and prioritized, but still so small. Fitting in a hand.  
  
Now Dean was a little smaller than Sam, shoulders less broad, height lacking by a good amount. Yet Sam wanted his older brother back to normal, despite everything else. It was the way he was supposed to be, and they needed him back.  
  
Reaching into his bag, Sam withdrew something he never thought he’d share with Dean. At first, because it was _his_ private thoughts, and later because Dean didn't have any hope of being able to read it without a magnifier or some way to enlarge the pages.  
  
His journal.  
  
Dean’s eyes widened at the sight of the worn book in Sam’s hands. It was the older book, the one in his possession before the brothers found each other again. Dean had given him a newer book, but that one only had a scant few pages filled in.  
  
This one had scribbles on every page. From small drawings Sam had done while bored to entire passages of writing, no space was wasted. At the time he’d found it, there was no reason to think he’d ever get another book to use. It was a rare find from a dollhouse left abandoned in a room. The parents had discarded their daughter’s possessions for space in the car when they found themselves adding on unexpected passengers, and so the toys were left behind. Sad for her, good for Sam. It wasn’t even predominantly pink, a plus for when he took the bed for himself.  
  
As Sam held out the book, Dean hesitated. His fingers twitched, instinctively wanting to take it, but torn.  
  
“It’s yours,” Dean said, quietly insistent. “You didn’t want me to read it, and I don’t want to accept it if it makes you uncomfortable.”  
  
He was referring to that first week, the first time they were back together. Dean had found the book in Sam’s possessions, nudging it open out of curiosity only to catch a glimpse of the tiny script that covered every page in a familiar handwriting. Sam had snatched it away from him and tucked it out of sight, insisting Dean needed to give him privacy.  
  
Dean had never once pressed the issue after that, and supported Sam in every way he could, going so far as to find a desk for Sam to use with his journal and stocking it up with thinner pencil lead and blank pages of paper.  
  
Sam paused. “Things change,” he said. “Back then… I was young. I didn’t know how it would go, living with you on the road.” He held his hands out as far as they went, the book clutched casually in his left. “You’re _big,_ Dean,” he said dryly. “I didn’t know then how you’d be to live with. If you’d let me have privacy, my own life, things like that…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “You exceeded expectations in a big way.”  
  
Sam proffered the book once more to Dean. “I _want_ you to see it now. You’re the most important person in my life, and this book is everything we could never share before.”  
  
This time, Dean took it reverently. He brushed a hand down the cover, the hard binding of the dollhouse book soft under his hands from all the years of use it got from Sam. Far more use than it could ever expect if it belonged to a kid playing with dolls.  
  
Sam watched avidly, unable to keep his eyes off Dean as he thumbed through a few pages. He knew those hands almost better than his own. Every scar, every fingerprint. It was all clearer to Sam than anyone else after spending so much time in them. As callused and hardened as those hands were, they were also far gentler than anyone would give Dean credit for, able to expertly help his tiny younger brother with injuries and keep him safe from harm.  
  
Dean finally settled on a page, and found himself unable to look away. It was the first page of the book, and he knew that handwriting as well as he knew his own. He’d spent years helping Sam with his letters as a kid. It hurt a bit to remember that this delicate writing was too small to see otherwise.  
  
 _So… finally found some lead in a room. Walt kept telling me no one uses pencils in the motel, they all just use those pens they find in the rooms, but I lucked out. Some artist broke his pencil when he was writing and never tossed the broken tip in the trash._  
  
Dean had to pause for a moment, thrown back into listening to Sam’s stories about growing up. Looking at it from here, seeing it in Sam’s handwriting, made it all the more vivid.  
  
 _Guess I should use it now that I’ve got something to write with. My knife was enough to sharpen the tip thin enough to look normal. It’s so weird using just a tip instead of an entire pencil, but I guess I’ll deal._  
  
“How old were you?” Dean asked, unable to contain his curiosity, looking back at this book.  
  
Sam turned introspective. “Fifteen? Maybe. It was when I was a teenager for sure.” He let out a sigh, taking a drink from his own beer. “God, it feels so long ago now. Like another lifetime.”  
  
“Yean,” Dean mumbled, looking down at the book. Fifteen. Sam was only just starting to go out for supplies in the motel. Meanwhile, Dean was nineteen, and nearly hunting exclusively on his own. The Impala was his, her trunk was full of weapons, and he only saw his dad on occasion, and even rarer was the time they hunted together.  
  
Sam might have grown up in a world apart from Dean, but at times Dean realized that his younger brother had a closer family compared to him. The people that took him in, Walt and Mallory, were some of the nicest people Dean had ever heard of. He’d never met Mallory himself, but Walt lived up to the legend Sam built of him. A man willing to face down a giant for his chosen son, regardless of the consequences.  
  
At times, Dean wondered what their lives would be like if he’d found Sam as a kid, tiny and vulnerable. Or thought to go back to the motel when he was nineteen and Sam was just learning to go out to the rooms. They might have been together all those lonely years, or things might have gone wrong…  
  
Dean tore his mind from thoughts of what might have been. They had each other now, in the present, and that’s what mattered between them.  
  
“This is… this is more than I ever expected,” Dean said, paging to the next entry in the book. He looked at his brother. “Thanks, Sam.”  
  
Sam grinned, and threw an arm around Dean’s shoulder to give him a hug. This caught Dean off guard, nearly spilling his beer and making the journal slide off his lap, only to be caught by Sam. He was careful not to crush Dean to him like he was tempted, remembering the injured ribs and bruises, but this hug was more encompassing than any other he could offer Dean before.  
  
Burying his head in the crook of Dean’s neck, Sam could only just mumble “Good to have you back,” before the tears caught him and choked his words.  
  
Dean softened, and wrapped his arms around his oddly-larger brother, patting his back. “Can’t get rid of me that easy. I just keep bouncing back.”  
  
They sat like that, the time stretching out between them. Dean didn’t have the heart to try and pull away, and Sam needed the comfort.  
  


* * *

  
The brothers stayed next to each other for at least another hour after their hug. Sam grew more animated after he’d cleared his head from all the emotions, often explaining the passages in the book with gestures and pacing back and forth, getting into the stories he built up about his life before Dean.  
  
Dean let him, half-smiling in amusement and glad to have the chance to share this moment with Sam _properly,_ instead of holding Sam in his hand. He lived vicariously through Sam’s old life, all the way up until Sam ran into _him_ in a motel room. Then, the entries were a little darker, the stress in Sam apparent from the way the words were scratched darkly into the pages, pressing harder than before and often looking shakier. Dean’s reappearance had shaken the foundations of the life Sam built for himself. Torn equally between staying in the motel and asking to leave with Dean, a surprise for the older hunter. Until Mallory’s death, he was convinced Sam wanted nothing to do with leaving with him. As it turned out, Sam had only insisted on that because he didn’t want to get Dean’s hopes up when he might _not_ go with him.  
  
The stories eventually tapered off, and Dean took his chance. He stood, brushing off his pants and briefly wobbling while Sam watched curiously. Then, with raised eyebrows as Dean shook out the sleeves of his shirt and unclasped his watch.   
  
“I think you should have this,” Dean said quietly, holding out the watch for his younger brother to take.  
  
Awed, Sam took it in his hands. He remembered using this to scale up Dean’s arm and for balance more than once, and now it fit in his palm. “You… you sure?” he asked in amazement.  
  
Dean nodded, then passed off his last two gifts. The knife he kept tucked in his boot, and the one from his sleeve. “Can’t be too careful, and I’ve got replacements,” he said with a wink.  
  
After the unexpected gifts from Dean, the stories changed as both brothers recalled their hunts together. Finding Nixie in a _pocket_ of all places. Sam gave Dean endless shit for having a girl hiding in his shirt. Dragging Bobby into things, a decision Sam had made without any input from Dean.  
  
“That’s what happens when you decide to go off and get yourself in trouble!”  
  
“You need to think things through more than that, shorty! What if you got in more trouble, huh? How were ya plannin’ on helpin’ me then?!”  
  
Dean’s drawl grew more pronounced as he drank, and Sam talked faster, but they both understood each other fine. Gone was any thought of looking at the scientist’s journals by the time they slouched against each other, both barely conscious and as inebriated as they could get off the beer Jacob had left them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam takes his chance, and opens up to Dean about his past. He's not going to waste their time together, and brought his old journal out to make sure Dean sees the entire story. 
> 
> This conversation has been a long time in coming
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** December 13th, 2020 at 9pm.


	52. A Heartfelt Apology

It took some time before anything in the room changed. The light outside slowly dwindled away, oblivious of the two brothers sitting on the table, leaning on each other for the first time in over a decade. The leafy wings of the sprites, a long distance away on the closer bed, twitched as the night closed in for good. Barely a mutter passed their lips.  
  
Jacob watched over the sprites long after Bowman had dropped off to sleep. He'd seen the excitable little guy doze off at times, especially when he was bored or settled down in the shade, but never like this. Bowman was out for the count faster than Jacob had ever seen.  
  
Whatever he went through in that scientist's dingy lab, it had taken everything out of him. Jacob wanted to keep watch over him, as if reassuring himself that the sprite wouldn't disappear again.  
  
He shifted when his knees complained from kneeling for so long. A glance to the table explained why he hadn't heard much from over there in a while.  
  
Sam and Dean were all but knocked out leaning against each other. Seen at the same scale, Jacob saw the same strain of world-weariness in their tiny shoulders. They'd been through so much, but they had their family back. That was the most important thing for them to move on from it.  
  
Still. It looked like Dean was about to drop his aluminum cup to the tabletop and spill whatever drops of beer he had left.  
  
Jacob pushed himself to his feet, ever mindful of the sprites close by. He rolled his shoulders and hid his hands in his hoodie pocket as he returned to the table. He didn't want to startle them, so he held back and tried not to loom.  
  
"Last call, guys," he muttered with a faint smirk. "How about we get you somewhere you can sleep."  
  
Both brothers had their own unique reaction to Jacob’s arrival. Dean groaned at the sudden influx of sound, having been nearly on the cusp of sleep. He tried turning away, but the way he was propped against Sam’s broader shoulders kept him in place when his younger brother roused, blinking up at Jacob in confusion.  
  
In all the excitement of the last hour together, they’d both forgotten they weren’t alone in the room. The memories were a little fuzzy for Sam, blending together into each other, but something he’d cherish for the rest of his life. The chance to spend a night drinking with his brother, neither letting themselves worry about the future.  
  
“C’mon, he’s right,” Sam mumbled as he pulled himself up. “Gotta get you to bed after all that excitement.”  
  
Dean was too slow to catch himself when his support vanished, and rocked back on his butt as he struggled to keep the last drop of beer from spilling.  
  
“I wasn’ done!” he protested, cradling the aluminum foil close as Sam’s hand closed around his forearm to keep him from tumbling over.  
  
Sam smiled, somehow endeared by the tiny hunter clinging to his beer, but didn’t let up. “There’s always tomorrow to celebrate after we take the sprites back home,” he pointed out as he ‘helped' Dean to his feet-- mostly by hauling him up and slinging an arm around his shoulders, finding Dean far lighter than expected.  
  
“Party poopers,” Dean muttered, but took his chance to suck the last droplet of beer from his cup before Sam made him get rid of it for the trip.  
  
Jacob couldn't hold back a snicker. "Someone's gotta do it," he quipped. His deep voice was barely above a whisper with the sprites sleeping so near, though he hardly needed it. With the sunbeam gone, they'd probably sleep like the dead until morning.   
  
He hoped his tone would help Dean with at least one more trip carried around on a hand. He could only imagine how he looked to the battered man.  
  
Just like he'd practiced with skittish sprites, Jacob made sure not to make any sudden movements as he offered a hand. He and Dean had made some progress and he wasn't about to mess that up just because everyone was exhausted. "I'll be sure to stick the rest in the fridge so you have a cold one for sometime tomorrow."  
  
“ _First_ thing in the morning,” Dean specified.  
  
Sam sighed fondly, but took the aluminum cup from his older brother and tossed it to the surface of the table. He could take care of it in the morning and check to see if it would make his satchel smell like beer then. “So long as you get to sleep now.”  
  
Dean didn’t put up much of a fight as Sam helped him onto Jacob’s hand, and it was good to see him calming around the only other human in their group.  
  
However, Dean did pull himself out of Sam’s grip when they reached the center of Jacob’s hand, drawing himself up. Despite the drink, he looked a bit more himself, his green eyes sharp and the signs of drinking gone, a talent Sam wished he had.  
  
“Jacob,” Dean started, meeting the teenager’s eyes evenly, “I want you to know I never meant to snap at you before. You didn’t deserve that and I’m sorry.”  
  
Jacob's eyebrows shot up and he lost any chance he had of hiding his surprise. Even so, he tried to rein it in as a smile twitched at his mouth. He couldn't hide that the apology made him happy, too. It was another step in the right direction after starting off so badly with his first time meeting Dean in person.  
  
"Dude, don't worry about it," he said, even as his other hand moved in to guard his two passengers like a candle so he could lift them up. "I understand."  
  
He glanced over his shoulder to the sleeping group of sprites before saying anything more. That scientist really had stirred up trouble at the worst time, especially for the brothers. Jacob's memories of when he went through the loss of his own father were soft around the edges, and yet part of that pain was still as sharp as ever. He understood all too well.  
  
"You uh. Had a lot on your plate, right when this started. I get it. Sorry for, uh, knocking into you during the fight. I'm definitely no pro or anything."  
  
Dean waved that off. “Water under the bridge,” he assured Jacob. “Those kids are free, and that’s all that matters. I’ve been through worse.”  
  
Sam winced, hoping he never saw _worse_. “Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, slipping his arm back under Dean’s to keep him steady.  
  
This time, Dean didn’t fight back. He slumped down, leaning his weight against Sam’s and letting his little brother support him. Something Sam wished he could do more often. His grip tightened and he nodded up at Jacob that they were ready.  
  
Dean's battered state reminded Jacob of the task at hand. As happy as he was to be forgiven for his bad first impression, it wasn't the time to celebrate. Dean needed to lie down so he could rest and keep healing. Rischa's prayer had done a lot of good, but in the end it was up to Dean's body to finish the job.  
  
Jacob's hands were steady as they lifted up and settled in front of his chest. The brothers had a backdrop of a wall of hoodie fabric and a steady heartbeat. It didn't take long at all to reach the other bed.  
  
"And here we are," he announced in a murmur as he lowered his hands again. He kept an eye on Dean, making sure the little guy wouldn't topple, but he needn't have worried. Sam had him propped up with ease. "We got you set up just in case you grow back, but just give me a yell if you need something else, alright?"  
  
“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Dean said with a jaunty salute, making Sam roll his eyes as he helped Dean step down onto the pillow waiting for him.  
  
“Smartass,” Sam commented dryly.  
  
“ _You’re_ the smartass… smartass!” Dean protested lamely.  
  
“And that means that you are _definitely_ ready for some sleep,” Sam announced as he lowered Dean down. “There’s enough covers here if you get cold.” He pulled up a corner of the t-shirt they’d selected for the job, one of Dean’s.  
  
Dean flopped down on the pillow’s surface, only grimacing a little when he hit the surface on his tender ribs. “It’s like sleeping on a cloud!” he exclaimed as he sunk into the surface. “Why don’t you do this more often?!”  
  
Sam grinned wryly. “Because I like to sleep where there’s cover, right? Out of sight, out of mind.”  
  
“You don’t know what you’re missing, kid,” Dean said as he spread out his arms like he was making a snow angel on the white surface.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and tossed the edge of the shirt over Dean. “Just try not to wander off on us, alright?”  
  
“You got it!”  
  
His upbeat words aside, the second Dean was finished talking, his eyes fluttered shut. Seconds later, his breathing evened out. Sam smiled gently, recognizing the exhaustion that was at work for Dean. He could fake enthusiasm all he wanted, but it meant nothing once that small tendril of energy tapered off.  
  
Turning back to Jacob, Sam hopped back on his hand. “Guess that’s it for him tonight.”  
  
Jacob smirked. "At least he made it all the way over here without passing out." His hand lifted away from the pillow with Sam in tow, careful not to jostle Dean's "cloud."  
  
A part of him was extremely pleased to have earned enough trust for Sam to step right onto his palm without any hesitation. That wouldn't have happened a few days ago, when Jacob was barely used to having Sam around. Someone the size of a sprite, but completely used to the human things around him. They were Sam's normal.  
  
He ferried Sam a short distance to the top of the nightstand. The bed, normally found on the shelf below, had been moved up for the night so Sam could be nearby if Dean needed him. It wasn't under cover like Sam said he preferred, but with the lamp and the alarm clock and one of the books, they'd managed at least some privacy for him.  
  
Jacob doubted Sam would mind, if it meant being able to help his brother the second he needed it.  
  
"I'll fill up your water cup before I grab a shower," he muttered. His gaze wandered to Dean, so quickly lost in a deep sleep, and then across to the sprites where they rested in a green pile. "Thanks for helping me get 'em all back, Sam," he said even quieter.   
  
Sam smiled up at Jacob, one hand on his bed. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he reminded Jacob. “If that scientist decided to take you and Dean together, and leave me and Bowman, we might not have made it to them in time. So don’t underestimate yourself, kid.”  
  
He waved Jacob off, knowing how exhausted they all were. “Go on, get yourself ready for bed. I’ll keep an eye on everyone.”  
  
Jacob grinned and nodded, and suddenly the excitement of the day caught up to him as well. Bowman and Dean might have endured far more in just a couple days, but Jacob and Sam had both burned the midnight oil to get them back.  
  
It was time to finally relax and rest after the trials. Jacob gave one last wave of his hand before retrieving the fresh water for the nightstand, and then went to clean up in the bathroom.  
  
By the time he emerged, his blood-spattered hoodie abandoned by his backpack, Jacob's steps were slower, more relaxed. He scanned the room to count off everyone else he knew was there before gathering up the spare pillows for himself to use. It was weird, being the only one sized for the room. There was a pressure on him to keep them all _safe._ Safe from what, he couldn't say, but even so he double checked the salt lines and the bolt on the door before settling down.  
  
Neither of the Winchesters had budged from their spots. Sam was sitting up in his bed staring down at the tiny journal, and Dean had turned into a ball of fabric with a tiny tuft of hair sticking up from the pillow to show where he was.  
  
Jacob checked on the sprites one last time. Bowman had shifted and his wing had moved off the nestlings partway. Jacob smirked and, with a careful, practiced hand, pinched the edge of the wing to settle it back over them.  
  
Bowman murmured something in his sleep, but otherwise didn't stir. Jacob sighed, then lay on the floor to finally get some rest himself.  
  


* * *

  
Hours later, a sound could be heard in the peaceful motel room that didn’t fit in with the calm settings.  
  
Over the sound of Jacob breathing calmly in his sleep, and the rustling of wings from the wood sprite pile, a faint moan of pain could be heard.  
  
On the pillow of the second bed, a small figure writhed in place. Dean restlessly shifted, getting tangled in the t-shirt he was wrapped up. Every move brought him another spasm of pain, but wasn’t enough to draw him out of the black morass of sleep.  
  
“N-nn… ngghh…” There wasn’t enough in Dean to form any coherent words. He kicked out, but his leg caught on the shirt, tugging him with it.  
  
The tiny shape in the black t-shirt went rolling down the pillow, twisting inside the shirt, but it wasn’t for long enough for him to suffocate. The second he bounced on the firmer surface in the bed, Dean let out an “Ah!” of pain, then _shifted._  
  
The black shirt made a ripping sound as it sat there on the bed, and a second later Dean, full sized and fully clothed, was lying in its place on the bed, the shirt he’d been using as a cover in tatters around him.  
  
The hunter thrashed, his motions subdued by the pain he was in, but he never woke up despite all his pain. The entire time, he restlessly searched the bed with blind, groping fingers, trying to find something that was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As drunk as Dean might act, he also knows it's time to apologize to Jake, who didn't deserve all his anger earlier. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** December 16th, 2020 at 9pm.


	53. The Winchesters Three

Sam woke abruptly.  
  
Bolting upright in bed, he stared around at the room, wondering what had woken him.  
  
The attempt at a room that Jacob had set up for him gave him a few places to peek out at his surroundings, but the main opening was angled towards Dean’s pillow, that way Sam could keep an eye on him throughout the night.  
  
Only, Sam couldn’t see Dean curled up on his pillow anymore.  
  
He frowned, then rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times to be sure of what he was seeing. Instead of a black t-shirt bundled up on the pillow and Dean curled up in it, he could see someone’s head thrashing from side to side with very little sound aside from the covers rubbing against each other.  
  
Sam’s heart skipped a beat. Only one person spiked their hair like that.  
  
“Dean?” he whispered, barely believing his eyes. He drew himself to his feet and stumbled forward a few paces in his disbelief.  
  
The hunter didn’t respond to Sam’s voice, but continued restlessly moving around in the bed. Normally Sam would never get close to Dean when he was unaware, but he could see the way Dean’s eyes moved under his eyelids.  
  
And then a word slipped out between Dean’s lips, and Sam realized why he was so upset.  
  
“S-Sammy…”  
  
Sam broke into a run and leapt off the side of the nightstand. The bed was close, and he bounced a few times against the surface before coming to a rolling stop and springing to his feet. “I’m right here, Dean,” he said breathlessly as he ran towards his older brother, seeking to help him in the only way he could. Reassurance. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
Dodging a few of Dean’s sluggish movements, Sam skidded to a halt next to his face and patted awkwardly at Dean’s eyebrow. “C’mon, Deanzilla,” he said, trying to draw him out of his nightmare. “You’ve got this.”  
  
Before Sam could react, the sleeping hunter instinctively grabbed at the foreign object by his eye. One hand swiftly swept Sam into a light grasp, fingers curling around him before he could try slipping out. He pushed at Dean’s palm, heart in his throat that his older brother was about to crush him during his nightmare.  
  
Sam needn’t have worried. Instead of crushing him, Dean let out a content sigh, curling into a ball once more. His breathing evened out, and his other hand came up around his first, a thumb brushing down Sam’s hair and messing it up even in sleep.  
  
Then he was still.  
  
Ten minutes later, Sam was still there. An unintentional tiny teddy bear.  
  
“You’re kidding me.”  
  


* * *

  
The night went on for the slumbering group. Even Sam found rest again eventually, held in the desperately careful hands of his brother. Leaving while Dean was fighting off nightmares no one could even imagine was not an option.  
  
On the other bed, other nightmares stirred among the group of sprites cuddled together. After weeks of enduring terror and loneliness, the nestlings had each other to help heal. With Bowman's wing draped over them, they had a false green canopy to remind them of home.  
  
For one nestling, this was not enough. Vel squeaked in his sleep as his memories of the lonely cage replayed behind his eyelids.  
  
"I don' wanna," he murmured as he rolled over abruptly, balking away from a huge, grasping hand that loomed towards him. He slipped away from whoever he'd clung to and partially out from under Bowman's wing. For a moment, Vel thought he'd disappeared and reappeared somewhere else, just like weeks ago when the whole mess started.  
  
His eyes stung and he sniffled. He wanted his mama to come running to him to hold him and tell him it was alright.  
  
He turned his head to find where Rischa lay. She was asleep, peaceful with the others crowded around her under Bowman's big, strong wing. Vel worried his bottom lip and brushed at his eye while more quiet tears came. He wished she was awake, but didn't want to rouse her.  
  
A noise in the vast, strange room stole into his heart and he froze. It was a loud human voice, and Vel had come to know those might mean more pain or fear. Whenever the scientist had addressed him, it put a bad feeling in his tummy.  
  
 _Subject one, will you behave?_  
  
Vel shut his eyes tight and rolled over again as if he might escape the thoughts. He came loose completely from the protective embrace of Bowman's wing, and his own tiny wings barely shifted in the open air. It was too dark, so there was no light for them to soak in.  
  
He scrubbed at his eyes some more and hiccupped quietly. The nightmares hadn't gotten any better from the start.  
  
He sat up as another, quieter murmur echoed in the air. With wide eyes, Vel blinked around the room for the source.  
  
He didn't expect to see Dean, full-sized and all, sleeping on the other bed. He was lying on his back, head leaning to one side. He had to have been the one making noises in his sleep.  
  
Curious and not even thinking about the distance, Vel pushed himself to his feet. The blanket was plushy beneath his little shoes, but he trudged towards the head of the bed in the faint light peeking around the curtains. It was little more than wisps of moonlight, but after weeks in the dark, it was more than he was used to.  
  
He had a goal in mind, and he didn't want to stop his lonely trek until he reached it. He was out in the open all by himself.  
  
The blankets near the nightstand were rumpled so that they touched the top surface. Vel stuck his tongue out and blinked tiredly a few times before crossing the cloth bridge. His wings and arms were both poised for balance, and soon he was on the flat surface and crossing closer to the other bed.  
  
"Dean?" he muttered, wide eyes on the sleeping giant. He got no response, and for a moment wondered if he would be stuck there thanks to not thinking things through. His eyes stung again as the thought nearly overwhelmed him.  
  
Luckily, Dean's movements in his sleep had shifted the covers on his own bed much the same way. Vel shifted from foot to foot before he hopped over onto a fold of blanket and crawled up the gentle slope to the pillow.  
  
From there, he had a vantage on the hand resting over Dean's chest. It rose and fell gently with Dean's breaths, but otherwise stayed steady where it lay.  
  
"Oh, it's Sam," Vel muttered to himself in his exhausted, almost-sleepwalk. He clambered over to Dean's shoulder from the pillow before he could topple over, and then made his way with surer steps. Last time Dean had been around, that hand had been like a little house for Vel to hide in, and Sam had joined him. Just like last time, there was room for them both.  
  
With not a single thought on the possibility of waking up the giant he walked on so recklessly, Vel crouched to his hands and knees and dragged himself the last few inches to the hand. A heartbeat thumped away beneath him, guiding him along.  
  
When he at last crawled into the space under Dean's hand, Vel's tears had dried on his face again. He all but collapsed once there. After one more quiet sniffle, his eyelids drooped shut and his mind quickly forgot that he'd even moved at all.  
  
  
Once Vel was settled, Dean's thumb gently swept over both of his little brothers, making Sam sleepily shift closer to Vel and the sprite's little wings flutter at the sensation. Even in sleep Dean avoided putting any pressure on them, his subconscious understanding how fragile the bodies resting under his hand were.  
  
He had the most important people safe in his grasp, and nothing in Dean would ever risk them. Sam might not have expected to spend the night acting as Dean’s anchor against the dark, but he could never refuse such a task.  
  
With Vel close by in the comforting warmth Dean gave off, the Winchester brothers and their adopted little brother slept better than they had in over a week.  
  


* * *

  
It was morning before anyone else stirred. As the narrow sunbeam returned to the closer bed and fell over the sprites, Bowman's wing twitched. He dragged it back towards himself without even waking, and sighed as the brief disturbance passed. With his wing out of the way, the nestlings could get some sun as well.  
  
Almost an hour later, someone finally awoke for real. Jacob grimaced as his back protested sleeping on the floor, and his body catalogued his fatigue. For a moment, he lay there absently facing the murky shadows under the bed while he caught up with himself.  
  
His arms were sore. He'd dug a grave the day before, under Sam's diligent instruction.   
  
A grave for a man he'd _killed._  
  
Jacob sighed and finally pushed himself up. He still had something to be hopeful about, to keep the thoughts at bay. He might have to answer for it eventually, but he'd saved the sprites from a monster.  
  
And there they were, sleeping in a pile in the fresh sunlight. He smirked at the sight of Bowman collapsed next to the younger sprites, with one of them clinging to his arm in sleep. They deserved the peace.  
  
 _Three ... four...?_  
  
Jacob's heart fluttered with sudden dread as he scanned the cuddle pile of sprites for the fifth child. He hoped they were hidden behind someone else's wings, but every time he counted he only found four nestlings and one Bowman.  
  
He turned his head, ready to call someone to action, let Sam know something was wrong, and stopped. How he hadn't noticed sooner, he didn't know, but he almost flinched at the sight of a full-sized person resting on the bed where he'd left a sprite-sized man the night before.  
  
Dean was back, and one of the sprites was not where Jacob last saw him.  
  
He pushed himself up to his feet with a groan in spite of his aches and exhaustion. Alarm bells went off in his head and he almost lurched towards the nightstand.  
  
"Sa-- uh," he started to hiss, only to find the tiny bed empty.  
  
A flutter of green drew his gaze and Jacob found Dean's hand resting on his chest. Barely visible beneath it was a tiny green wing, along with a tiny head of mussed hair. Jacob blinked slowly, and it dawned on him.  
  
 _Jesus, Jacob,_ he scolded himself as he backed off as quickly as he could. His cheeks warmed with a sheepish blush as he put enough pieces together. At least he hadn't quite spread his panic to the others before figuring it out.  
  
Not wanting to wake anyone up before they were ready, Jacob backed away from the beds until he could make his way to sit at the table. There, he could keep watch over everyone and the door, and take the time to process his heavy thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vel joins his adopted brothers in an attempt to chase away the bad dreams! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** December 20th, 2020 at 9pm.


	54. A New Day Breaks

It was some time before anyone else roused in the room aside from Jacob. The sun crept upwards in the sky, the small ray of light that slipped through their curtains shifting its way across the bed as it went.  
  
It was when the room had grown brighter and he could no longer remain asleep that Dean blinked open his eyes.  
  
Staring upwards, it took him a few moments to untangle his thoughts. His body was sore all over from the last few days, but the sharp pains from his ribs were dampened. For the first time all week, he couldn’t recall any nightmares.  
  
The first time he’d slept a full night since losing their dad.  
  
Letting out a sigh, Dean relaxed into the pillows. It was then that he realized he could feel a slight pressure against his chest that had nothing to do with the hand draped lazily there.  
  
Sam. Vel. They were both curled up under his hand. Sam had an arm draped across Vel, keeping the kid close against his chest like he was a fluttering teddy bear.  
  
Normally the sight of Sam safely in his grasp reassured Dean, but today, after a week of torture at the hands of a giant stranger, Dean felt an unexpected rush of panic to see his little brother and _littler_ brother helpless there.  
  
“Sam!” he hissed, trying not to wake Vel but at the same time doing his best to wake his baby brother. If Sam was awake, he could move the tiny kid _away_ from Dean.  
  
Vel didn't respond at all to Dean's voice. His wings, still weaker than they should be, shifted in his slumber. At most, the tiniest, squeaky grumble passed his lips as he dreamed the morning away. He'd claimed his spot to sleep, and after everything he'd endured, he was capitalizing on it.  
  
Across the room, Jacob did hear Dean, and it jolted him out of an absent doze. He straightened in his seat and his eyes tore away from the crooked salt line by the door.  
  
For a moment, he hesitated to say anything at all. He had no idea how Dean might react.  
  
"Um," he said, going with it anyway. Dean had gone to sleep with some concerning injuries. "How're you feeling? Want me to, uh, start some coffee? You don't even have to get up or anything yet."  
  
Dean shot Jacob a faintly desperate look, still coming to terms with his recent size turnaround. “Uhh… coffee?” he said lamely, afraid to move so much as an inch so long as the others were out cold on his chest.   
  
This time, he didn’t bother trying to rouse Sam by calling his name. Dean shifted his hand an infinitesimal amount, nudging his now-much-smaller brother in the shoulder with a finger that felt insanely oversized for the action. It brought all his fears from captivity rushing back to the fore, hardly believing anyone would _want_ to trust him while he was this large.  
  
Dean was deeply regretting that he was no longer Sam’s height, able to use Sam as a leaning post.  
  
The nudge seemed to get through to Sam. Unwinding his arms from around Vel, the smaller Winchester stretched out slowly like a cat, coming back to waking slowly and luxuriously. Dean watched with fascination, which quickly vanished when Sam used one of his fingers to push himself up to stand and stretch his arms over his head. Everything that made Dean feel _big_ left his insides a solid block of ice.  
  
Sam rubbed his hair and blinked up at Dean with a smile. “You’re back,” he said with a heavy, relieved sigh.  
  
“Yeah, and what are _you_ doing over here?” Dean hissed, his voice low. “I didn’t know you were there! What if something happened?”  
  
Sam frowned, looking down at his former bed and spotting Vel there. Eyebrows raised, he looked up at Dean. “You were hurting,” he said bluntly. “I just wanted to try and wake you up, _you’re_ the one that decided you needed a teddy bear.”  
  
Dean’s cheeks burst into flame, surreptitiously checking to see if Jacob had overheard.  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows. From where he sat, Sam's voice was quiet, the faintest mumble on the edge of hearing. Jacob had no idea what the little guy might have said to put that look on Dean's face.  
  
He wasn't about to be the one to ask.  
  
His gaze wandered to where the sprites still rested in their own pile on the bed, and then back to Dean and his extra passengers. "Seems like everyone got some good rest so far," he mused. Then, hesitantly, as if any slight move might set someone off or startle one of the sprites awake, he pushed himself up out of his chair. "I'll just get something started," he announced, remembering how far a bit of coffee could go with Sam the mornings after their frantic research.  
  
While the biggest person in the room moved about, Vel stirred in his sleep. For a moment, it looked like he might wake up, as his wings stretched over his back, but then they crumpled back down around him.  
  
"... don'wanna," he mumbled, shifting just enough to cover his face with one arm, now that he was lying on his own. One wing fluttered against Dean's chest, then fell still.  
  
Sam couldn’t hide a smile at that, and took pity on Dean and his frozen status. He waved for Dean to move his hand, and as the massive hand lifted away, muscles working and flexing under Sam’s feet as it went, he walked over to the tiny kid.  
  
“C’mon, you can use my bed,” Sam murmured, slipping his hands carefully under Vel, not pinching the wings as they fluttered in sleep.  
  
Once he had a good grip, Sam stood up, taking Vel with him as he tucked the young sprite against his chest. “Mind giving me a lift?” he asked Dean, nodding towards the nightstand and the bed sitting on top.  
  
Dean held out his hand, nervous to see how _small_ they were against the outline of his fingers, but trusting that Sam knew what he was doing the entire way. It was going to take some time to readjust to this perspective again.  
  
When Sam was ready, Dean lifted them over to the nightstand and got to sit up, letting his fingers come to rest right next to Sam’s tiny bed, looking more out of place than usual while it was on the nightstand. The remote for the television was much longer than the small piece of furniture.  
  
“Just call if you want to come join us, okay?” Sam said as he tucked Vel into the covers and left his wings spread out atop the covers. He brushed Vel’s messy hair out of his eyes. “I’ll send Dean to fetch you.”  
  
"Uh-kay," Vel mumbled, already snuggling into the small bed. He hardly cared that they'd moved, and even when Sam had carried him, he'd snoozed right through it. Like the other children in the room, he was out cold as his body caught up with the fact that they were out. They were _free._  
  
Coffee was slowly filling up the pot, and filling the room with its aroma. Jacob waited awkwardly near the kitchenette, but not without several curious glances back to where Dean waited.  
  
His demeanor had taken a full 180. The Dean that Jacob first met had been all bristle and glares, all but shoving past him. He'd been confident in every step, warding Jacob out of his way with nothing more than his aura. Now ... Dean was battered. Maybe even broken.  
  
"There's still, uh, some leftovers from yesterday," he said, nodding towards the mini fridge. "The kids'll want the fruit but the rest is pretty much fair--"  
  
Movement on the bed standing between them stopped Jacob's voice. One leafy wing stretched straight up into the air and cast a green-tinted shadow over the bedcovers while Bowman stretched his arms, much like Sam had done just moments ago. He rolled over onto his back away from the nestlings, and didn't seem to care that he'd landed on one of his wings.  
  
"Ugh, why," he complained cryptically, sending the faraway ceiling a glare before rubbing at his eyes.  
  
Sam finished tucking Vel into bed and wasted no time jumping back on the hand waiting for him. Dean didn’t bother bringing him all the way up to his shoulder for the short trip. Bracing his other hand on the mattress, Dean pushed himself heavily to his feet. He was still dressed fully, an uncomfortable way to sleep but it meant his stuff had grown back with him.  
  
“Coffee, Bowman!” Sam called out as they passed by where the sprites were curled up in a pile, waving the sprite on. “You remember _that,_ dontcha?” He and Dean shared a smirk together. One of the more entertaining parts of their last hunt in the Wellwood, once they’d calmed Bowman down after their inadvertent kidnapping, was his reactions to _everything_ in the room. Including corners, and the television, and coffee.  
  
Letting Sam down onto the table, Dean sat with a heavy sigh, surreptitiously rubbing his bruised ribs. It would likely be some time before all the pain went away if left alone.  
  
Jacob kept his distance, though waiting on the coffee pot to fill up gave him a good excuse not to sit back at the table. Once again, he had a view of Sam walking onto the table among books and a computer all much bigger than himself. He made it look normal, like nothing about the scene had ever or would ever faze him.  
  
"C'mon, Bowman," Jacob said, taking his cue from Sam's teasing to continue it. He returned to the bed to lean down and check on the barely-awake wood sprite. "I've never seen you on coffee before. Don't you want some?"  
  
Bowman's wings curled inward in response, as if he might wrap himself up in them to avoid the inevitable waking. Then they flopped right back down. "Yeah. No. Shut up, giant."  
  
"Hey, now," Jacob chided him with a smirk, "I'm just a messenger. Wings feeling okay?" A tentative hand reached down and barely brushed at Bowman's wing before drawing away from it again. Jacob only barely resisted the urge to glance over at the table to see if he'd get a disapproving look.  
  
Bowman finally uncovered his eyes and sent him a flat look. "My wings were fine _yesterday,_ " he groused. "Just bring me to the coffee."  
  
Jacob nearly rolled his eyes, but it took some effort to resist. With the permission given, he slid his hand underneath Bowman's sluggish weight and lifted him off the bed to bring him back over to the others. The coffee would be ready soon and they could all have their wake-up potion.  
  
Bowman was far less graceful than Sam about dismounting a hand. He stumbled onto the table before taking a heavy seat on the base of the laptop. Waking up was no easier for him now than it was at any other time, no matter where he was.  
  
Sam had two tinfoil cups at the ready by the time Bowman reached the table, holding one up for the sprite. He was going to need to resupply soon after this case, his satchel was nearly emptied of its most useful items.  
  
It had been a long week even before Jacob’s call. Now they all had time to recover.  
  
“Oh,” Sam blurted as he remembered. “Bobby had some news for us. He’s hanging on to it for when you got back.”  
  
Dean arched his eyebrows, then slumped in his chair. “I’ll give him a call after breakfast.”  
  
Jacob, listening in, glanced back at the others, ready to voice his curiosity. After talking to Bobby (or texting) him a couple times, he already knew that whatever the man had to say, it was interesting.  
  
He thought better of it not a moment too soon. It wasn't his business, not after only helping on one case. Instead, he made a point of stopping the coffee machine just before it filled the room with a shrill beep that would scare the tiny sprites still snoozing the morning away.  
  
He returned to the table with a cup to hand off to Dean, and kept one in his hand. There was another awkward pause before he took the seat opposite, only after Bowman impatiently beckoned him to do so.  
  
"Don't burn yourself on that," Jacob warned as Bowman marched over to his cup.  
  
Bowman flicked his wings. "I'm not gonna _burn_ myself," he dismissed. Then, he pointed up at Jacob accusingly around his still-empty foil cup. "Why are you tiptoeing around so much? You're not hiding from anyone, you're too blasted big."  
  
Jacob shrugged and gave Bowman an exasperated look for putting him on the spot. "I'm just trying not to wake up the kids, that's all!"  
  
While they argued, Dean merely snagged a bottlecap to fill for Sam and managed to avoid burning his fingers this time. He put it down along with some cream and sugar, not a word of teasing crossing his lips as he slumped back in his seat to enjoy his own brew. He might have slept, but after the last week there had been very little energy regained.  
  
Sam frowned up at him but didn’t complain. Even Dean needed to take it easy from time to time. It was odd to see his energetic older brother in such a state, but Sam hoped it would pass if they gave him some time.  
  
“The only person who’s gonna wake the kids will be Bowman and all his complaining,” Sam said blithely, knowing just where to poke at first thing in the morning. He finished mixing his drink and sipped hesitantly at it. “At least Vel’s far enough away he probably can’t hear you.”  
  
Bowman turned his glare on Sam this time. "The others are too far away, too," he snipped. "I'm not _that_ loud!"  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows. While Bowman had his scolding look on Sam, Jacob reached out to nudge him in the side. "You practice yelling at me a lot, Bowman. Don't underestimate yourself."  
  
He didn't have a bottlecap himself for Bowman to draw from for coffee. Instead, Jacob left it to cool more while the sprite waited for the steam to die down.  
  
"Oh," he remembered suddenly, prompting Bowman's green wings to twitch. Jacob snatched his wallet up from where he'd left it on the table and flipped it open. The fake ID that he and Sam had made, as well as the card borrowed from Dean's stash, were inside. "Guess I should give these back before I forget or something."  
  
Dean reached out, taking them back. He stared down at the cards, recognizing the one from the glove compartment. On autopilot, he tucked it back into his wallet, but he kept the second out. It was with some fondness that he could remember teaching Sam just how to forge an ID. Sam had thought nothing of giving Jacob an age over 21. The smaller folk ignored ages more than humans, and a lot of that attitude had rubbed off on him over the years.  
  
“You can keep this one,” Dean said, holding it out. “You never know when it might come in useful, and we owe ya one.”  
  
Jacob was so surprised that he nearly forgot to take the card back. After Dean's stern look about it the night before, he was resigned to losing the convenient fake ID. "Wow, thanks, dude," he said, reclaiming it almost reverently. He knew a couple people that'd be wildly jealous of that.  
  
Present company was not one of them. Bowman eyed the card skeptically before finally taking a chance to steal some of the coffee out of Jacob's cup. He had to stand on his tiptoes and open his wings for balance, but soon he had claimed his drink.  
  
"Does this mean you can bring beer to Wellwood again?"  
  
Jacob smirked. "I dunno, Bowman. You're still underage, too, same as me."  
  
Bowman narrowed his eyes, but somehow managed to refrain from taking the bait. After all the exhaustion, his snark came and went.  
  
“Just be responsible about it?” Dean implored dryly. “Don’t… let your mom know.”  
  
“Or your stepdad,” Sam supplied, remembering talking to Jacob about Mike before. It wouldn’t do them any good to have Jacob’s cop-of-a-stepdad on Dean’s ass for giving his stepson a mostly-illegal ID card Sam had designed for him without thinking through the repercussions.  
  
Jacob nodded and couldn't stop a wince as he imagined his stepdad finding out about that one. Then would come questions about where he got it, and he wasn't sure how well he'd be able to hide what he'd been up to. He'd never give up Sam's secret, or Bowman or Wellwood, but he'd definitely be in hot water.  
  
He stowed away the card and claimed his own coffee at last now that Bowman had his. With a bracing sip, his eyes wandered around the room for a moment. With their goal already reached, he wasn't sure if there was any more conversation left; while they waited for the nestlings to rouse in the sun, things could get quiet.  
  
"Listen, uh, Dean," he finally said with a sheepish shrug. "If there's something wrong with the car, I'll do what I can to help fix it."  
  
Dean waved off the offer. “No big,” he reassured the teenager. “I’ve fixed her from worse. Just ask Sam. The last time we needed repairs, the car took a fireball to the front. I was cleaning the soot off for a week before it shone. I’ll just take her to Bobby’s once we’re done here.”  
  
That reminded him of the call to Bobby he’d promised Sam to follow up on, but before he faced their old friend, he needed something substantial in him. Something more than coffee.  
  
Pushing back with his toes, Dean leaned back in the chair to reach the mini-fridge, nearly tilting backwards as he snagged his leftover sandwich from the night before. The towering cheeseburger now fit snug in his hands. He pushed that out of mind, slowly unwrapping the foil so he could microwave it.  
  
“I can’t tell you how good it is to be back to normal,” Dean announced, letting his chair thud back on the ground with a satisfying feeling to it. “Though I gotta say, it feels _weird_ to be so heavy now.”  
  
Bowman's wings perked up while he was in the midst of sipping his coffee. He gulped down the warm liquid faster than he would have wanted and grimaced, but the opportunity for snark had almost caught him off guard. He smirked and gestured up at Dean's height sitting at the table.  
  
"Heavy is right," he quipped with a raised eyebrow. "You gotta be _thousands_ of ounces now. At least."  
  
Dean looked over at him, brief offense passing over his face before his eyes lit up with jackass mischief.  
  
“Heavy? Me?” He stretched out his arms, faking a yawn as he exaggerated every moment. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”  
  
With that, Dean draped his hand over Bowman as he settled back down, caging the sprite in under his hand with the most casual motion he could manage, the smirk never once leaving his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean sharply discovers that his size has been fixed, and the others remind him that Bobby's waiting for a call with news.
> 
> What could Bobby possibly have to tell them?
> 
> Comments and kudos are love! The end of the story approaches!
> 
> **Next:** December 23rd, 2020 at 9pm.


	55. A Returned Call and an Answered Prayer

What they could see of Bowman amounted to his scrunched up wings crowded around him under Dean's hand. They twitched and pushed against Dean's fingers to no avail, and Bowman could be heard grumbling underneath.  
  
"Blast it, Dean!" he finally yelled. He couldn't push against Dean's fingers with his hands clutched around his coffee, and he didn't want to lose the bitter drink. So, stooped over and nearly invisible to the others, he used his wings and his complaining instead. "Get off me!"  
  
Jacob tilted his head in an attempt to catch sight of the little guy. He found a bright green glare leveled at him. "Don't pout at me, you were the one talking shit."  
  
Dean shook his head ruefully. “I thought you _wanted_ me back to my giant self, small fry,” he snickered, curling his fingers in to free Bowman and settling his index finger on top the sprite’s green mess of hair to ruffle it more. “Careful what you wish for.”  
  
When he felt Bowman’s tiny head under his fingertip, he very nearly froze up all over again, like when he’d woken up that morning to find Sam and Vel using his hand as a sleeping bag. After a week under a shrinking spell, Dean wasn’t prepared for his _own_ size, never mind theirs.  
  
It took a second longer to compose himself compared to normal, but Dean shifted his hand away from Bowman, freeing him from its shadow. His breathing went back to normal, and though Sam arched an eyebrow at Dean for the odd behavior, he didn’t comment on it, choosing to give Dean time to figure things out for himself.  
  
Bowman was too preoccupied with the teasing to notice Dean's lapse, and he pointedly brushed at his messy hair as soon as he was able. His wings twitched before flaring wide as if he might deter the giant from messing with him again. Now, his wings weren't so wide compared to Dean.  
  
"I _suppose_ you're right," he griped. "It's better with Dean back at his giant size. As much as all you giant humans like to cause trouble."  
  
"I like to think of it as 'keeping things interesting,' " Jacob chimed in. When Bowman rounded that glare on him once more, he raised his eyebrows innocently and changed the subject before any scolds could come. "Do you wanna go get the nestlings waking up soon? They probably need some fruit before we all head out and they'll need time to get ready."  
  
Bowman finally turned his gaze to the other sprites in the room. The cuddle pile remained where they'd left it, exhausted children sleeping the sun up. "Yeah," he replied. "They'll be excited to see Dean back to normal, too."  
  
Dean eyed up his cell phone, clearly weighing his options. “We should probably give Bobby a call soon, too,” he said reluctantly, not looking forward to explaining just how the hunt had gone for him and Bowman.  
  
“He said he had important information for us,” Sam reiterated. “I bet he’ll barely notice when he finds out you were my size for the last few days.”  
  
Dean snorted. “Since when was our luck _that_ good?”  
  
If Dean radiated any more reluctance, it would become a physical weight hanging in the air. Bowman shifted his wings while he finished off the last of his coffee. He wished he had more, but there was already a telltale blossom of energy in his core.  
  
It made him bold. "Well, are you gonna do that, or should I?" he snarked.  
  
This made Dean arch an eyebrow, immediately rising to the bait. He glanced to the phone and then back. The smartphone was bigger than Sam _or_ Bowman.  
  
 _This will be fun._  
  
With a quick movement, Dean scooped up the phone, switched it on and flicked through his passcode. He dropped it directly in front of Bowman and gestured grandly. “Be my guest, small fry.”  
  
Bowman leaned away from the phone as if it might attack. All sarcasm aside, he had no _idea_ how to operate the thing, and the screen had an accusing brightness as it stared straight up. As much as he wanted to shoot Dean a flat look, he couldn't. He'd snarked himself right into this one.  
  
"This phone doesn't have as many buttons as Jacob's," he complained. By his count, there were at least ten buttons missing.  
  
"It's a touch screen," Jacob supplied helpfully. He watched with interest to see what Bowman would do with the technology. After spending some time with Sam, he was back in familiar territory. He guessed that, even if Bowman tried, he probably wouldn't manage to make the call in Dean's place.  
  
Bowman squatted down and reached out, hands twitching as if he was about to touch fire. He placed his palm over one of the squarish images on the screen, and immediately the colors changed and something new spread to cover everything. It happened so fast that he twitched back again and his wings fanned open.  
  
His cheeks heating up, Bowman stood and crossed his arms. "I don't know how to do it," he grumbled.  
  
Dean’s grin didn’t falter. “Sammy?”  
  
Sam came to Bowman’s rescue, tapping the home button to clear the screen of the application he’d opened. “This to go back,” Sam supplied helpfully as he worked on the huge phone, “and this to open ‘Contacts.’ " It took some scrolling to get down to **Bobby Singer** in the list. All either hunters or women Dean didn’t contact often. Sam, Bobby and John were near the bottom.  
  
He tapped on Bobby's name, bringing up the number, and hit call. “Here we go,” he warned Bowman, turning on the speaker and making the sound of a phone ringing echo through the room.  
  
“ _Sam? That you?_ ”  
  
Sam grinned at the familiar voice as it spoke up. One of his few close friends in life, they owed Bobby a _lot._ Including the information that got them to the warlock’s house.  
  
“You bet,” he said. “And you won’t believe who we’ve got with us.”  
  
“ _Dean?_ ”  
  
“Hey, Bobby,” Dean leaned forward to take part in the conversation. “Betcha missed me.”  
  
“Bowman and all the sprites are back, too,” Sam assured Bobby.  
  
"Uh, yeah," Bowman chimed in, momentary shyness aside. If anything helped to prove that telephones really worked, it was hearing a completely new voice out of the flat device. "They were just in time."  
  
Jacob wasn't sure if it was his place to chime in, but Bowman had already barged through that courtesy. "Dean, Bowman, and five missing nestlings all accounted for. Turns out it was that missing professor guy stealing people."  
  
"Hey, you don't, uh, tell other humans about sprites, right? You keep us a secret like Sam's folk?" The question all but spilled out of Bowman, as if he'd been holding it in for a long time even though the conversation only just began. Once he knew, he could leave Sam and Dean to talk to their friend. But he _had_ to know.  
  
“ _Don’t get your wings in a twist, I ain’t talkin,’_ " Bobby assured Bowman through the line.  
  
“He didn’t even tell _me_ about Sam’s people,” Dean said in an aside, still sounding galled at the entire subject.  
  
“ _You don’t exactly give off the ‘cautious around littles’ vibe,_ ” Bobby scolded him. “ _If I told you, I couldn’t exactly chaperone you now, could I?_ ”  
  
“That’s all in the past,” Sam interrupted before those two fell into their old squabbles, as they were prone to doing. Bobby not trusting Dean, Dean discovering the tiny people on his own, the revelation of first Sam, then Walt. It had all been said and he was sure they’d say it again. “You told me when all this started that you had information for us?”  
  
There was a pause. “ _Yeah, I did._ ” Sam waited patiently as Bobby composed his thoughts. “ _You’re not going to like it, though. Either of you._ ”  
  
“Do we ever?” Dean asked, darkly humorous.  
  
“ _You’ll like this even less,_ ” Bobby assured him. “ _It’s about that Cas fellow that saved your ass, and his erstwhile big sister, Saraqael._ ”  
  
Sam frowned. That name again. “Those kind of sound familiar whenever I hear them…” he said tentatively.  
  
“ _They should. Anyone who’s picked up a Bible might have strayed over them._ ”  
  
“A _Bible?_ ” Dean sputtered in disbelief. “You expectin’ me to believe that our witch was working back in ancient times? That she lived that long?”  
  
“ _Not at all,_ ” Bobby said, amusement in his voice. “I’m telling you that they were up and active back then. Because _Castiel_ is an angel and Saraqael... is his fallen sister.”  
  


* * *

  
A long moment of silence passed in the room. Dean stared down at the phone, unable to believe what his ears were telling him.  
  
Sam caught up much faster, bolting to his feet. “You’re telling me some _angel_ is the cause of all this?!”  
  
“An archangel, actually.”  
  
The sound of the voice coming from behind them made both Winchesters jolt, and Dean nearly fell out of his chair twisting around.  
  
Placidly standing directly behind Dean, with his hands clasped casually behind him, was the man in the trench coat from their last case. The angel, Castiel.  
  
“Did you ever hear of personal space?” Dean blurted, nothing more intelligent coming to mind at the unexpected shock of finding him in their room, which was locked, deadbolted, guarded by salt lines and every other protection they could find.  
  
At first, Bowman didn't even register that there was another person in the room with them. That wasn't _possible,_ so the looming figure only caused confusion at first. Then, the realization hit him and his wings snapped open in a startled threat display that felt woefully underwhelming.  
  
He didn't know what an angel was, or what a castiel was. All he knew was that this giant had appeared out of nowhere, while the nestlings rested on, vulnerable and out in the open.  
  
He glanced their way once before turning his wary glare on the man. At least Dean didn't seem ready to attack, and Jacob was too surprised to do much either. "What business do you have just _appearing_ like that?!" he demanded. His wings remained open, even if he knew they wouldn't instill any fear. If he needed to, he was ready to dart to the side to guard the younger sprites.  
  
Neither Bowman nor Dean appeared to faze Castiel, who looked around the room as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His gaze rested briefly on the sprite children, then on Bowman and Jacob, and finally fell to the Winchesters, whom he stood closest to.  
  
Sam was the first to break the silence after Bowman’s outburst. “W-what do you mean, _archangel?_ ” His voice shook, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the sudden burst of nerves or the way Castiel’s gaze left no tingle across his neck to tell him it was there.  
  
Castiel met Sam’s eyes evenly, and then Sam blinked and the angel was gone.  
  
“It’s good to finally meet you properly,” came from right next to him, nearly jolting Sam two inches in the air.  
  
The so-called angel stood next to Sam on the table, and was now a hair shorter than the younger hunter.  
  
“Y-you j-just… How?!” Sam demanded.  
  
“ _What’s goin’ on?_ ” came from Dean’s cell. Bobby was still on the line, his voice fading in and out.  
  
“Call ya back!” Dean said, punching the **END** button before Bobby could protest.  
  
One thing at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Presenting: Castiel, angel of the lord!
> 
> Enjoy the holidays and stay safe!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** December 27th, 2020 at 9pm.


	56. The Affairs of Angels

Sam composed himself, offering a hand to Castiel to shake. “You’re really an angel?” he asked in awe.  
  
Castiel stared at Sam’s hand, then took it and offered a stiff shake, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. “I am. And you’re the boy with the cursed soul. I’ve heard about you.” He spoke simply, stating facts before pulling his hand away and looking at the others in the room. The sight of Dean looming over them did nothing to break his unruffled demeanor.  
  
Castiel's calm demeanor only further contrasted with Bowman's, who was nonplussed over being completely ignored and confused about _what just happened._ Humans weren't supposed to be able to just switch from giant to sprite size. Whatever an angel was, he had many questions he was ready to demand an answer to.  
  
A nudge at his side derailed him. Bowman turned a glare on Jacob only to find the human giving him a pointed look. Bowman saw his curiosity mirrored there, but Jacob shrugged faintly.  
  
This conversation was not for them. Not really.  
  
Bowman scoffed and prowled away from Jacob's reach. While Castiel focused on Sam and Dean, Bowman made sure he stood between him and the nestlings over on the bed before finally trying again to say something despite Jacob's silent advice.  
  
“I've heard of Sam, too, so we all have something in common," he snarked, though his voice was tinged with caution. "Why are you here now?"  
  
Bowman’s sarcasm only got Castiel to look his way, sizing up the sprite first followed by Jacob as the angel assessed all the people in the room with him. Considering that he was currently the shortest person there, not counting the children bundled up on the bed, he let no sign of any discomfort show on his face as he looked them all over.  
  
Until, that is, Dean nudged him with a finger. Sam had to pull away from Castiel’s stiff handshake, the angel unfamiliar with human greetings.  
  
“He asked you a question,” Dean said pointedly. “Why are you here? Why _now?_ ” There was a good bit of emotion in him. “We could have used some help a day or two ago, if you’re that interested in us.”  
  
Castiel let his hands fall to his side, ignoring Dean’s finger. “I have been tracking my sister,” he said, faintly scolding. “Saraqael cannot track Sam, and she lost his trace after our confrontation. I and the others have been keeping her from following _you._ ” He turned to face Sam once more. “You are what she wants, and we can’t let her find you.”  
  
Sam had to pull his jaw from the tabletop, somehow managing to close his mouth. “You’re saying an _angel_ did this to me?” he demanded in disbelief. “I’ve met her! She’s a witch!”  
  
“An angel who fell from heaven and possessed a woman, becoming a witch to disguise where her magic _really_ comes from,” Castiel corrected. “In fact, she got the initial idea from her host, from what we’ve discovered. Celeste was stabbed in the back by a woman in her town who was a real witch. The angel took possession of her when she was framed to be the witch herself and got revenge on the town for her-- by ‘cursing’ them all. Men, women and children, none were left out.”  
  
This time, Bowman inched closer so he could listen, rather than talk back. His brow pinched with confusion as many of the concepts breezed over his head, including the names and the events Castiel described. He had been far too caught up in what was happening in Wellwood to think about what might have been happening outside of it.  
  
"So that means..." he interrupted, only to trail off as the implications settled in. He glanced at Sam. The other folk like him really had started off the same way; humans once, but not really anymore.  
  
As much as he preferred being sprite-sized, it wasn't normal for humans. He'd seen the effects of losing that size firsthand with Dean over the last few days.  
  
He glanced over at Jacob and tried to imagine him at the same scale. Then, he pushed those thoughts aside.  
  
Jacob broke the pause next before it could draw out. "Can we help?" he asked. Then, he became sheepish as he remembered how little experience he had and how much it showed on their mission just the day before. "I mean. With Sam, and all that stuff..."  
  
  
"If you see any of Sam's people, you can make sure they are not treated like lessers," Castiel intoned. "They have some small amount of magic in them, bestowed by the Grace she imbued in them, but they are a peaceful race, compared to humans."  
  
"My knack..." Sam said slowly, everything starting to come clear.  
  
Castiel nodded. "Your... 'knack' and others, and the strength in you. Not everyone exhibits an outward trace of the magic, but it often shows in times of great distress or need. It is always there."  
  
"Like with Walt," Dean said in sudden understanding. "There was no greater need than when his daughter and son were about to die."  
  
Turning on his heel, Castiel walked away from Sam and Bowman. Before anyone could blink, he was again standing full-sized in the room, his level gaze on the sprite children on the bed.  
  
"You did a good thing, saving them," Castiel said before Dean could leap to his feet to keep the stranger away from the children. "Not all that live on this earth are my father's children, but they have no less reason to exist because of that."  
  
Bowman's wings flared open in spite of Castiel's steady words, and he would have taken flight already if not for Jacob. He held out a calming hand to steal some of Bowman's focus, and it was enough. Castiel didn't have an irate sprite fluttering at him in defense of the slumbering nestlings.  
  
"That's what we thought," Jacob agreed. "The sprites are just trying to get by."  
  
As if to demonstrate their own innocence, the children slept peacefully on. With a shadow blocking their sunlight, tired wings settled down and Rischa turned over to let an arm settle on one of the others. If her empathic ability took any notice of Castiel, it wasn't enough to wake her.  
  
"We ... do our best to keep out of trouble," Bowman chimed in. He still had a distrustful look fixed on Castiel's back.  
  
Castiel turned and looked steadily at Bowman, silent in his appraisal before he turned back to Sam.  
  
"Why are you even here?" Dean growled out. "Don't you have other people to bother?”  
  
Castiel held out his hands. "I am merely here to warn you that my sister is trying to track Sam down. We are working to find her first, but she's evaded her trackers for millennia. It stands to reason she may evade us for longer."  
  
"How the hell are _we_ supposed to deal with her if _angels--_ "  
  
Halfway through Dean's speech, Castiel reached for him, planting two fingers solidly on the hunter’s forehead for a brief second.  
  
Then vanished.   
  
Dean leapt to his feet, too late to grab at the erstwhile angel.  
  
"Son of a _bitch!_ " he snapped at the empty air.  
  
Bowman's wings twitched irritably and he glared at the spot Castiel stood only a moment ago. Just when he thought he had giants figured out, they always had a new surprise for him.  
  
After what they'd all been through, he was wary of someone who could vanish at will. Especially when they looked at him like that. Like he was just there as a backdrop and not worth acknowledging more than in passing.  
  
Not that Castiel had regarded the others with much more interest.  
  
Jacob spoke before Bowman could voice his complaints about the guy. “That was, uh. Interesting,” he mused. Considering he and Bowman probably weren't meant to have heard any of it, he didn't know what else to say. “So much for the salt everywhere.”  
  
His voice and Dean's, loud rumbles in the air after a series of loud rumbles, finally drew a reaction from the nestlings. A girl younger than Rischa sat up blearily and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. While she yawned, Rischa herself stirred again, her wings and arms stretching out tiredly.  
  
Dean scowled, not having noticed the children waking on the bed. “I can’t _believe_ this!” he hissed, keeping his voice down if only for Bowman and Sam’s proximity. “Just when we think we might get answers--!!”  
  
“We got _some_ answers!” Sam interrupted Dean hurriedly.   
  
Dean bared his teeth at Sam. “What about this angel crap, huh? We _know_ angels can’t be real--”  
  
“Whoa, of course they can be!” Sam looked aghast. “There’s plenty of lore!”  
  
Dean dismissed this with a wave. “No one’s ever _seen_ an angel, and we’ve never heard of a hunter running into one, so why should we just believe this _Castiel?_ ”  
  
Bowman was wide-eyed as he watched their argument form. He didn’t know what an angel was (or wasn’t) supposed to be. Whatever they were, Castiel had upset Dean with his abrupt exit, and it wasn’t easy to stand his ground while the man was so riled. Dean had an intensity about him that had scared Bowman more than he cared to admit when they first met.  
  
He knew no harm would come to anyone because of it now, but it left him at a loss of what to do or say until Jacob nudged his side. When he turned around, Jacob nodded towards the bed. They both looked at the same time to find Rischa rubbing her eyes and turning towards the heated conversation as the emotions in it tickled her awareness.  
  
“Birdie!” Bowman said, as relieved to see her okay as he was for a reason to leave the conversation behind. His wings fluttered to life and he crossed the short distance to the group of sleeping nestlings to crouch down among them.  
  
Rischa, still waking up, leaned into a sleepy hug around his waist without any prompting. “Good morning,” she slurred out. “Is everyone … okay?” She yawned in the middle of her question, but soon her gold-colored eyes were looking around more keenly.  
  
She blinked at the sight over by the table, at whose shadow fell partially over the bed. “Dean! You’re big again!”  
  
Any anger that Dean was harboring evaporated the second he heard Rischa's voice, and his face softened as he looked over to the bed where the children were staying. "Rischa," he said warmly in greeting.  
  
Sam blinked up at Dean. “Are you okay?”  
  
Dean blinked back in confusion. “Why?”  
  
Rubbing his chest with his hand, Sam gestured at Dean with the other. “Your ribs… don’t they hurt?” he asked.  
  
Dean put his own hand on his chest, pushing hesitantly down and discovering a lack of pain. “It’s… gone…” he said slowly in realization.  
  
Bowman, with Rischa still clinging to him and the other nestlings stirring around him, eyed Dean critically. He had been certain his broken ribs would require a few more healings from Rischa or maybe Cerul back in the forest. Broken bones were harder to knit together even with the healing touch.  
  
Recalling Castiel poking Dean in the face earlier, Bowman wondered if there had been more of a reason to it besides annoying him.  
  
Rischa was confused and rubbed at her eyes. “How?” she managed to ask. “I didn't…”  
  
“You did a great job, Birdie,” Bowman interrupted her to keep her mind off of the confusion and the smoldering argument at the table. Even if she couldn't instantly heal the injuries (until now Bowman had thought only the Spirit could do that), she'd worked hard. “You helped keep us all okay that whole time.”  
  
“It makes sense if he’s an _angel,_ ” Sam said, pressing the issue with Dean. “Just like when he fixed you at the beginning of the week! Who else could undo that spell that made you--”  
  
“Angels don’t exist!” Dean hissed, falling right back into the argument and forgetting everything else. “They _can’t,_ we’ve never heard of _anyone_ dealing with them before.”  
  
“ _You_ just dealt with one,” Sam said flatly. “We couldn’t fix what Celeste did to you, and he’s done it twice now.”  
  
Dean stared at Sam, his lips pressed as though he had more he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words.  
  
Jacob sat back and let some amazement creep over him. Dean was as intense as he’d ever been, stubborn in his stance. Seeing Sam just as stubborn was a familiar and impressive sight. Bowman could be that kind of fearless when he really wanted to be, no matter what he was staring down.  
  
There Sam was, pushing Dean’s buttons while standing all of four inches tall. Jacob was almost six and a half _feet_ tall and didn’t want to try that.  
  
Instead, he chose to focus on someone that probably wouldn’t bite his head off if he tried to interject. He got to his feet, briefly looming over even Dean at his impressive height. It lasted only a second, long enough for him to approach the bed with one long stride, before he dropped down to a crouch to greet the nestlings as they woke up.  
  
“Hey,” he said softly. “Everyone doing okay? Vel’s sleeping over on the nightstand, we can go get him soon and you can help Bowman finish the fruit from yesterday.”  
  
The sound of Jacob’s voice distracted Dean, and he tore his gaze away from the argument to look at the kids.  
  
Naturally, Sam wasn’t about to let go of the argument as easily as that. “Call Bobby and see what he was going to tell us,” he pressed. “Before Castiel interrupted.”  
  
Dean huffed, reluctantly reaching over to unlock the abandoned phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean throws a fit over the existence of angels, and Bowman notes that the best way to immediately piss Dean off is to poke him in the face. Good job, Cas.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** December 30th, 2020 at 9pm.


	57. Home Sweet Home

“ _He’s an angel._ ”  
  
Dean scowled down at the phone like it had betrayed him personally. “Angels don’t exist,” he insisted petulantly.  
  
“ _Boy, you are sitting in a room with your cursed brother and a flight of sprites and you’re gonna tell_ me _angels can’t exist?_ ”  
  
With no answer to that, Dean sat back with his arms stubbornly crossed and glared into empty space.  
  
Bobby continued, finally able to tell them what he’d found. “ _What that Castiel fellow told you is true, so far as I can see. Celeste-- formerly known as Saraqael, one of the seven archangels gifted with primordial powers-- fell to earth, where she took on a vessel and used her as a disguise to remain invisible to the other angels. As a witch, she was able to find spells and incantations long thought forgotten, enabling her to move unseen throughout the last thousand years of history. And you can bet your bottom dollar she is the one who started it all. The histories get a little fuzzy for a bit, but there’s no record of ‘borrowers’ or ‘littles’ existing before his fall…_ ”  
  
“His?” Sam interrupted in confusion.  
  
There was a pause. “ _Looks like angels can take a vessel of either gender. Before taking Celeste, Saraqael was seen as ‘God’s Prince.’_ ”  
  
“Well that’s just great,” Dean huffed. “We have an archangel that got a facelift and an entire race of people created by them who are currently _vulnerable_ because of it! What are we supposed to do about all this?!”  
  
Sam smiled slightly at Dean’s determination. “Did you find out more about the knacks?” he asked Bobby, staying focused. “Castiel mentioned they were caused by her angelic Grace…”  
  
Another pause, and Bobby’s voice picked up again. “ _Angel Grace is straight from creation itself. It’s… it looks like anything exposed to it grows stronger, and there’s some record of unusual abilities rising from it. A lot like the nephilim of the past, only in this case, it’s a weaker effect because the Grace is only bound to your soul, instead of a part of it._ ”  
  
Sam sighed. “I can’t believe this…” he muttered, sitting back from the phone and staring into space.  
  
Dean nudged him in the shoulder with a finger in support, letting Sam lean on him. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Angels or not, we got this. Bobby, you’ll call us if you find more?”  
  
“ _You know it._ ”  
  
After goodbyes, Dean shut of the phone and pocketed it, scooping Sam up without asking. He came over to where Jacob was sitting by the bed, letting Sam down near the sprites. “Everyone holding up okay over here?” he asked, his face softening for them. Just yesterday, he had been down there, the same size, and now he could probably fit everyone in one hand.  
  
In the time it took the brothers to call Bobby and find more information about their ongoing struggle with Celeste, Jacob had taken it on himself to babysit the sprites. The leftover fruit from the day before was back on the bed, with another towel laid out to keep the mess to a minimum. Even Vel had been retrieved to join them for a messy breakfast, though by the looks of things the nestling was still half asleep.  
  
Bowman fanned his wings open in greeting, a piece of watermelon in his hands and coating them in juice. "As much as we can, though Jacob is doing his best to drown us in fruit."  
  
Jacob was waiting by with a damp cloth, ready to help keep the tiny sprites clean. Their enthusiasm for the fruit was finally helping them wake up from their suntrances. "What can I say, I just like giving you a challenge."  
  
"It's good!" one of the kids disagreed with a grin.  
  
Sam came over and sat next to Vel. "My favorite," he said with a warm grin as he reached forward to slice off a corner of watermelon for himself, avoiding the sticky juices as best he could. "Dean always complains when I want to get fruit," he whispered conspiratorially to the kid, grinning up at his older brother knowing his voice wasn't low enough to go unheard.  
  
“Awww,” one kid lamented, his voice not as quiet as Sam's. “But fruit is the best! It's better than _roots._ ”  
  
“Or mushr’ms,” Vel chimed in, perking up for an instant before he leaned towards Sam as if deciding whether he wanted to slump over completely.  
  
“Roots and mushrooms _and_ fruit are waiting for all of you back home,” Bowman told them. “Gotta get your wings strong again.”  
  
“I miss mintcakes,” the little wraith sprite added, before falling quietly shy again.  
  
Jacob couldn't hold back a relieved smile. No matter how intimidated or out of his element he might have been while the case was going on, this was more familiar territory for him. He could talk with sprites without a problem. “I'm sure there'll be a lot of celebrating,” he promised, “This is just to keep your energy up for the trip.”  
  
"Once everyone's finished, we'll getcha back to your families," Dean promised. It felt odd, after so many days at their height, to be looking _down_ at everyone again. He settled on his knees to wait them out.  
  
"Besides, we've got something for everyone to take home with them," Sam said with a grin in his eyes. "Vel's favorite, I think."  
  
 _That_ perked Vel up enough that his wings, the most damaged from lack of sun out of any of them, fluttered once like they normally did. He stared up at Sam with hopeful eyes while his mind woke up to give him the memory of the chocolate he'd tried to savor last time. “We can all have one? A nem… a nem and em?” He shot Dean an excited grin over his shoulder.  
  
"One for everyone," Sam assured Vel.  
  
“That'll have you bouncing off the walls,” Jacob said with a smirk. He had, unfortunately, missed the sugar rush the first time the little nestling had candy to share around.  
  
Seeing a few of them finishing off their pieces of fruit, he set the damp cloth among them at last for them to wash their hands. “Don't want to be a mess for the ride back. I gotta keep Dean's car clean, y’know.”  
  
Bowman scoffed even as he cleaned off his hands and helped a nestling with their face. “That carbeast is always clean,” he protested, “more than yours is, anyway. It's shiny.”  
  
Dean held his chin up proudly. "My pride and joy," he said smugly. "I just have to make sure Sam doesn't go tossing his wrappers on the seats when we grab snacks."  
  
Sam flipped him off over his shoulder without looking; Dean smirked and reached forward to ruffle his hair, making Sam try and duck out of the way and really just making him drop his watermelon on the bed when it slipped off his knife.  
  
There was a short, collective gasp of surprise as Sam, and not a nestling, was the first of the morning to drop some food. Some giggles followed. Vel put his arms over his head with a grin to defend against the same teasing, as the one closest to Sam.  
  
Dean's hand, so close to the group, inspired none of the same reactions that the scientist's had. Even Jacob, who loomed no matter how he tried not to, wasn't inspiring any more than the occasional cursory glance when someone tried to sneak just a little more fruit.  
  
The brighter mood was a balm to Rischa after steeping in fear for days. She knew what emotions and fears still lingered behind the tired smiles, but chose not to dwell on them.  
  
“Now whoever owns the bed we borrowed will have to pick up fruit,” she scolded with a growing smile.  
  
“Can't take humans anywhere,” Bowman agreed. He reached out a wing to flick it at Dean's hand as if shooing it.  
  
Dean flicked his fingers dismissively back at Bowman, careful to keep from actually brushing against the tiny limb.  
  
The sprite's wings looked so much more delicate from this angle, but Dean remembered how strong and powerful they were on the same scale. Enough that Bowman had glided to the ground while carrying _him,_ and while he wasn't as bulky as Sam, Dean was built thicker than any of the sprites. He lacked their willowy frame, replacing it with muscle and hidden weapons.  
  
"The maid will take care of it," Dean said. Putting his hand on his knees, he pushed himself to his feet and dug out his wallet. He tossed a few bills on the pillow for a tip. "Probably one of the better rooms she'll see compared to the other guests."  
  
“You guys didn't even rumple the covers,” Jacob agreed. “It's like you weren't even here all night.” _We're counting on it._  
  
“Vel was sneaky,” one young girl pointed out shrewdly. “He really wasn't here!”  
  
“I wasn't bein’ bad,” Vel protested. He put a hand on Sam's sleeve, and it slowly curled into a fist to grasp the sturdy fabric. “I had a bad dream.”  
  
Sam put his arm over Vel, careful to avoid the weakly fluttering wings. "That's why he came to find me," he told the other kids. "We're the best at chasing away the nightmares."  
  
Vel nodded sheepishly to confirm it, and the other nestlings seemed to take the story without further argument. Rischa smiled faintly as the brief teasing ended. Vel harbored a lot of leftover stress inside without being put on the spot.  
  
“Now everyone's had a good sleep, wherever they wanted to be,” Bowman determined. It seemed they'd all finished cleaning their hands as well. His wings twitched as if aware of what it meant.  
  
They'd go home soon.  
  
“Ready to go again? We can make Jacob carry us directly now that he has Dean to help get us there.”  
  
“Thanks for volunteering me, dude,” Jacob quipped.  
  
"We won't make Jacob take all the burden," Sam said wryly, standing and brushing off his hands. He had to borrow a corner of the cloth Jacob had placed on the bed to wipe off all the juice from his watermelon he'd dropped. "Vel can ride with me."  
  
"Works for me," Dean agreed. He put an outstretched hand on the bed for them. "It's time to hit the road and get you guys back to Wellwood. Your parents are worried."  
  
Vel pushed to his feet with another weak flutter of his wings. There was a grin on his face, and tears in his eyes at the same time. He didn't know how long he'd been away, but it was too long. He missed his mama.  
  
He made his way to Dean's hand while the others milled around Bowman and waited for Jacob to offer his own hand for them. Dean’s hand was so huge after being able to brush carefully over Vel’s wing. Vel stooped over to place a curious hand on one of Dean's fingertips. It was so strong and steady that when he leaned his weight forward it hardly seemed to make a difference.  
  
“Are we goin’ on your shoulder?” he asked, straightening almost too fast to keep his balance. He turned to find Sam and hold out a hand for him. “I better hang on!”  
  
Dean couldn't quite hold in a chuckle. "You are, but you'll have to stick with Sam the entire time," he advised the kid.  
  
Forcing himself to not twitch at their light movements, Dean kept his eyes on Sam and Vel the entire time as his younger brother went over and firmly took Vel by the hand, motioning Dean that they were ready.   
  
Lifting his hand carefully, Dean held them next to his shoulder. He held his breath as they stepped off his hand, waiting until he felt Sam next to his neck to move it away. Sam pulled Vel into his lap, using one hand to hold onto Dean's collar and the other wrapped around Vel for security.  
  
"So, ready to hit the road?" Dean asked as he straightened cautiously. He wasn't quite used to having people on his shoulder again after a week spent at their size, but it was slowly coming back to him.  
  
He was just in time for the last nestlings to decide where they wanted to sit on Jacob's hand. Bowman was watching with his hands on his hips to make sure they all held onto each other and stayed close to the middle. At least Jacob had big hands, with plenty of room for the four young sprites.  
  
“I don't know why we would _hit_ the road, but I think we're ready,” Bowman determined, fluttering into the air as Jacob stood.  
  
Jacob rolled his eyes and tucked his hand close to his chest. “Just a phrase, dude. I swear you know that one.”  
  
Bowman couldn't resist making a quick circle around both humans to survey every young sprite from the air. “Whatever. There's a lot of them.”  
  
"I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually," Dean said. "You seem to spend enough time around us. Now get under cover. Your wings stand out around here."  
  
He gestured to the window, where through the crack they could see the drab surroundings of the motel. Dean's Impala waited next to Jacob's car, the former gleaming in the morning sun. Very little green was to be found in the area, past a few trees that dotted the sidewalks bordering the streets.  
  
Bowman spared the window one wary glance. “I know,” he insisted. “Had to make sure _you_ were ready is all.” Putting action to sass, Bowman banked to Jacob's shoulder and landed next to his hood. His wings folded tightly to his back and he looked ready to dive under a fold of cloth if needed.  
  
Jacob smirked as he felt the familiar fidgeting right on his broad shoulder, and on his hand. This was how things ought to be. “Awesome. Time to get back to Wellwood.”  
  
Vel, clinging to Sam's arm where he sat on his lap, grinned and hunkered down even more for the ride. “Yeah! Even more sun an’ some chocolate and everythin!”  
  
"Sun and chocolate and everything," Sam agreed. He tugged Dean's collar so it was higher up, and Dean's hand rose to help him out, keeping them out of sight.  
  
Picking up his duffel on the way, Dean checked the room one last time to make sure all was in order, then pushed the door open. He motioned Jacob, with his hands full of sprites, to lead the way.  
  
Jacob did so, but not without a pause in the threshold. If he didn’t need to be quiet right then, Bowman would have told him how ridiculous he looked, trying not to be conspicuous before he stepped out. They had to make sure no one was nearby to spot the sprites settled on Jacob’s hand or shoulder, or the pair waiting by Dean’s collar.  
  
“No one,” Jacob muttered for everyone else’s benefit as he finally stepped out. There weren’t even any cars on the nearby road. He made his way to the passenger door of the Impala, after only a split second of hesitation. He wasn’t driving anymore; that mantle had passed back to Dean.  
  
Hopefully he wouldn’t see too much wrath for the panel under the steering column that he hadn’t taken the time to put back in place.  
  
Dean followed Jacob, his eyes soft as they trailed over the Impala’s sharp lines and smooth curves.  
  
Then, he remembered what she had gone through for the last week. Dean instinctively sent Jacob a glare for the fact that the teenager had pretty much stolen his car for the week, with Sam’s help.  
  
“I’m taking away your panic room privileges if you go breaking in anyone _else_ to my car,” Dean grumbled to Sam.  
  
Sam innocently gave Dean a pat on the neck. “You just keep telling yourself that,” he said smugly. “We all know you made that room so no one could get into it but me.”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Dean opened up the car. Again, a flat look crossed his face when he discovered his legs were _too short to reach the gas pedal._ He growled as he pulled the bench seat forward.  
  
Jacob waited until Dean had the seat back where he wanted, and while he did he worked hard to pay as little attention as he could. He aimed to dodge another complaint about his height if he could. He couldn’t really help that he needed more room to drive the Impala.  
  
Once he settled in the passenger seat, at least he didn’t have to contend with a steering wheel being too close and cutting off the circulation in his legs. As soon as he sat down, he shuddered as a tickling sensation raced over the back of his neck.  
  
Bowman grumbled to himself as he navigated the folds of Jacob’s hood. He’d hidden himself on the wrong shoulder, and had to crawl over the back of the human’s neck so he could still see Dean and the others, and keep an eye on Vel.  
  
“I wouldn’t have minded a warning, y’know,” Jacob muttered, tilting his head forward by a few degrees to give Bowman room to move.  
  
Sam and Vel pushed Dean's collar out of the way so they could see the rest of the crew on Jacob's side, and waved.  
  
Dean watched them in the rearview mirror, a warm smile on his face and eyes. "Alright, everyone, hang on," he said by way of warning, turning the key in the ignition.  
  
The Impala started up with a reassuring purr, a solid contrast to the huge growl Dean had heard his last time in the car, when he was too small to even attempt putting the key in. He let out a sigh, soaking it all in.  
  
This felt _right_.  
  
The Impala pulled out of the parking space, angling towards the Wellwood Forest, taking the rescued victims home.  
  


* * *

  
With the nestlings alert, they paid more attention to the world outside the Impala than the day before. Little wings fidgeted and they pointed out taller buildings with excitement as they passed. Once or twice, Jacob lifted his hand enough for them to peek at something before lowering them out of sight again. He didn't want to get them this close only for someone to spot them at a red light.  
  
Vel sported a wide grin for much of the ride, his little hands gripping Sam's arm for safety. He was up high and he felt tall up there.  
  
Once the road around them was empty, Jacob could lift his hand up so the kids could all watch the miles disappear. Many of them had never seen the fence that surrounded much of the heart of their forest, so the evenly spaced posts along the road to keep farmland partitioned fascinated them. Jacob suspected that Wellwood might find itself surrounded by tiny twig fences in the next few weeks.  
  
When trees approached on the horizon, Bowman was the first to point them out. His fanning wings occasionally tickled Jacob's neck, but he couldn't blame the little guy. Bowman belonged among the trees.  
  
The chatter and fidgeting only grew as the Impala took the road into those woods. By now, Dean had made the drive just enough that he didn't need directions. They passed the sign pointing to the campgrounds and aimed for a more secluded parking area, deeper in the woods. Strong trunks and a green canopy surrounded them all now, like a welcome-home embrace from the forest itself.  
  
One of the younger kids became so excited that she started to cry quietly, overwhelmed by it all. Jacob nudged at her little wings with his thumb. “Almost home,” he told them.  
  
Up on his shoulder, Bowman kept watch on the others, but he was only barely avoiding fidgeting just like them. They were back, he was back, and everyone was safe.  
  
The Impala came to a stop, and as the humans opened the carbeast’s doors with loud metal creaks, the chattering died down. The sound of the forest rushed back, wind in the canopy and birds singing to each other. Green-gold sunbeams splashed over the underbrush, and the scent of earth and _life_ permeated the air.  
  
They were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bobby's got some real good information for the boys! Maybe with this, they can start getting to the bottom of what happened to Sam and the others. They have Celeste's background, and know what's causing the curse. That's a step in the right direction!
> 
> Time to return those sprites home, and get them their M&Ms! They've more than earned a few treats. 
> 
> 2021 is finally coming! Be sure to vote in the next poll to pick what we post, and I'll see you all in the new year!
> 
> **Final:** January 3rd, 2021 at 9pm.
> 
> **What story should post next?**   
>  [ _Vote here!_ ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.surveymonkey.com%2Fr%2F7PVKLLG&t=OTM2OGEzMTQyZGJmMzFjODdhYjE2MWQ4M2VmMTU4MDIzNjVlMzZkZCxlNWFiNDU4ZGYxNjQ0MDA1NTYwYWJjYjc2OWE1ZGEzNzc4MjhmNzgx&ts=1609346599)
> 
> Poll closes either Wednesday, January 6th at 9pm or when 100 votes are reached!
> 
> The next story will begin posting June 3rd!
> 
> As usual, one vote each!
> 
> _Votes are not accepted through asks, please vote_ [ _here_ ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.surveymonkey.com%2Fr%2F7PVKLLG&t=OTM2OGEzMTQyZGJmMzFjODdhYjE2MWQ4M2VmMTU4MDIzNjVlMzZkZCxlNWFiNDU4ZGYxNjQ0MDA1NTYwYWJjYjc2OWE1ZGEzNzc4MjhmNzgx&ts=1609346599) _if you want your vote to be counted._
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> **Upcoming Events:**
> 
> _January 3rd:_ For Science finishes posting!
> 
> _January 6th:_ The poll for the next story ends.
> 
> _January 10th and 13th:_ Part 5 of Aftermath: A Series of Consulted Shorts posts. 
> 
> _January 14th to January 26th:_ Posting hiatus.
> 
> _January 27th:_ The next story begins posting!


	58. Reunion

Bowman was jolted out of his reverie when the shoulder under him bobbed up and down once. He gripped Jacob's hood in surprise and turned a glare, only to find the human smirking at him in profile. “Go on, dude, we all know you want to. Find a leaf for these guys to play with or something.”  
  
Bowman raised an eyebrow, but didn't gripe. Last time he'd come back to the forest in the Impala, he'd all but stormed out the door to fly among the canopy again (much to Dean's annoyance). This time, he'd held back for the nestlings. One glance at them found Rischa waving him off with a knowing grin, and he had his answer. He was off like a shot.  
  
While Bowman frolicked in the air to celebrate their return, Jacob glanced to the side towards Dean and Sam. “Ready for a hike?”  
  
Dean took a deep breath of the forest air. "I think I can manage," he said, his mood undeniably chipper after the coffee combined with the supposed-angel's healing touch. Now that the pain in his ribs was gone, he could move quicker and give Jacob a run for his money on the hike.  
  
Sam and Vel were equally ready. "Mush!" Sam called from Dean's shoulder, gamely pointing the direction he wanted Dean to go in.  
  
Vel had no idea what Sam was referencing, but he had no problem mimicking him. He pointed in the same direction with one little hand. “Yeah! Moosh!”  
  
There was some confusion on Jacob’s hand, so he sent them a brief smile. “That just means ‘go.’ So I guess we better.”  
  
He’d hardly taken a step before Bowman drifted back down to eye level for the two humans. He zig-zagged in the air, back to his normal overconfident self now that he could fly among his trees again. Hovering several feet ahead, he waved. “Remember the way, giants?” he called, gladder than he thought he’d be to include Dean in that category.  
  
Dean arched his eyebrows up at Bowman. "Oh, I thought that's what we had our native guide for," he sassed the sprite right back, not missing a beat between statements. He was feeling much more himself this day, that was for sure. For the first time in a week.  
  
Bowman rolled his eyes. If Dean didn’t have Vel hitching a ride on his shoulder, Bowman would be tempted to toss an acorn at him for his sass. As it was, he darted upwards among the leaves. “You’re blasted right, and that means I’m in charge on this trip, right?”  
  
Vel giggled at Bowman’s casually-dropped swear. “No, _I’m_ in charge!” he called back, laughing at the very idea.  
  
“You sprites will have to help us keep an eye on Bowman,” Jacob chimed in. “Make sure he doesn’t lead us into trouble. At least we know Sam can spot him pretty good out here, too.” He shot Sam a smirk. He had heard all about how the sprite-sized Winchester brother had pointed out Bowman’s spot on a branch a year back when Dean first found his way to Wellwood.  
  
Bowman landed on a branch a few feet ahead. “Don’t go giving anyone any ideas!”  
  
Dean planted his feet on the ground to give Bowman a look. "Is that a challenge?" he called out, a grin on his face at the memories from a year back. Catching Bowman off-guard back then had certainly been one of the highlights of their hunt.  
  
Bowman flared his wings in the biggest threat display he could manage. “Don’t even think about it. I’m keeping my eye on you this time, giant. You’re _both_ trouble.”  
  
Jacob continued towards the branch, even reaching out his free hand as if he might shake Bowman’s perch. There were poorly-stifled giggles on his other hand as the nestlings watched the bickering back and forth. “I guess if you’re _expecting_ trouble, I won’t disappoint.”  
  
Bowman fluttered off the branch before Jacob could reach it, and sent both humans a mock glare. “Just follow me, featherheads.”  
  
As they got underway again, Vel tilted his head back against Sam’s chest so he could give him an upside-down grin. “Are you gonna come to my house again? I’m real excited to get back. I miss my blankets and my friends and my _mama._ ”  
  
"You'll see your mama first thing," Sam soothed Vel with a small smile, brushing his fingers through the kid's short, light brown hair. "Dean promised he'd bring you back to her himself."  
  
"And that's our first stop when we get there," Dean put in, cutting his eyes to the side to try and catch a glimpse of the tiny pair hitching a ride with him. "Jacob can get the others home with Bowman's help."  
  


* * *

  
With a plan set and Bowman leading the way, the path deeper into the forest beckoned them on. Jacob had the way memorized, but he let Bowman take point so the younger sprites could track the patrolsprite from his hand. Their fidgeting and excitement grew as the sunbeams breaking through the canopy brightened.  
  
Passing the fence really caused some excitement. Most of the kids besides Rischa and the little wraith had never been this far from the village before, but they knew it meant they were close again.  
  
Almost home. Even the trees on the other side seemed to lean in close to welcome them all back.  
  
Not long after that, other patrolsprites could be seen among the canopy. They noticed Jacob and Dean right away, and when their tiny passengers waved excitedly, they grinned and waved back before darting ahead. The whole village would know before they arrived that the nestlings were coming home.  
  
Jacob sighed with relief when he heard the stream ahead at last. Bowman fluttered back to his shoulder and peered down at the hand braced against his chest. “Alright, nestlings, ready to go home?”  
  
While a chorus of “Yes!” shrieked out from the small group, Jacob glanced to the side where Dean and Sam kept watch over Vel. “You remember which tree he goes to?”  
  
Dean nodded, reaching up to his shoulder to scoop Sam and Vel up so they could get Vel to his home as soon as possible. "Couldn't forget it."  
  
When he felt their tiny bodies in his hand, willingly letting him pick them up, Dean was struck by how much trust they'd given him. Just yesterday he'd been in their position and looked up at humans from the same perspective, and he had a hard time imagining just giving so much _trust_ so easily, yet here they were. The most Sam did was make sure he was holding onto Vel as Dean picked them up, making sure the tiny, fluttering wings didn't get bumped around.  
  
Holding out his hand next to Vel's home tree, Dean called out "Nia? Karlis? We have someone who’s been waiting to see you."  
  
There was a startled voice inside the small dwelling, one that had grown right out of the tree itself. The unmistakable sound of small but frantic footsteps echoed out in contrast to the calm forest sounds around them. Then, a little door burst open.  
  
Nia didn’t look much better than she had before, with her wings dark and sagging and her eyes sunken and bloodshot with worry. However, her eyes quickly alighted on the child waiting on Dean’s hand and her face twisted with relief and pain. A noise between a laugh and a sob choked out of her as she covered her face with her hands, and then looked again.  
  
Vel had already squirmed out of Sam’s lap and was trying to balance carefully on Dean’s palm. He didn’t make it far before Nia rushed forward. She almost tripped on Dean’s fingertips to get to her only child, finally home again. She sank to her knees and wrapped him in her arms, holding him close with no mind for where she was.  
  
“Mama, I’m home,” Vel announced, though his voice was muffled in her embrace. She nodded and kissed the side of his head.  
  
Karlis wasn’t far behind, though for a moment he stayed off of Dean’s hand to take in the sight of his mate and child back together. “Spirit’s dance, you found them,” he breathed, noticing Jacob at one of the other trees already to help one of the other children get home. Karlis put his hand over his mouth and his own tears blurred his vision. Vel’s wings were in sorry shape, but the boy was _home._ He could heal.  
  
He was hesitant, but he sidled up to Dean’s hand. Nia had already all but dove onto it, so there wasn’t much left he could do to give the human some space if he wanted it. “Looks like the family is all together,” he said, offering Sam a smile, and then tilting his head back to give Dean a nod. “I don’t think I can ever--” his voice cut off as a lump formed in his throat. He took a breath. “I can’t thank you enough.”  
  
He finally stepped onto Dean’s fingers as well, balancing oddly on them until he could kneel next to the other sprites already there. He ruffled Vel’s light brown hair and wrapped one wing partially around the both of them. The other flared partway open as he glanced to Sam and Dean again. “Dean is a bit large for my wings to cover, but you’re both part of this, too.”  
  
"Don't worry, I think I've gotcha covered there," Dean said thickly, his voice choked up with emotion.  
  
He might have lost some of his family that week, but he and Sam had reunited another family torn apart. Without their help, Vel and the other children might never have returned home. The scientist might have never gotten what he wanted from the Spirit, but he was willing to destroy lives and ruin a village for his ambitions, and they had put a stop to it.  
  
Dean hadn't been prepared for everyone to pile onto his hand, but he supposed it was only natural for them to want to be as close to their child as possible, no time wasted. From the look of her, Nia still barely registered that she was on a comparably-giant hand. Dean kept this in mind as he lifted them up, keeping his hand balanced and his movement smooth. Sam let Karlis embrace him with a wing, and then they were all pressed lightly against Dean's chest. He couldn't quite hug them the way they were used to, but it was the only way he had available to him to reciprocate, used very rarely when he needed to feel that Sam was okay for himself.  
  
At other home trees in the village, similar reunions were happening one by one, but none of the young returned sprites were quite as secure as Vel. Wrapped up in his parents’ embrace, along with Sam, and all of them held in Dean’s protective hand, the nestling could barely see anything but his family around him. The one he was born into and the one he’d picked out for himself were all there, and his happy, relieved tears finally overflowed.  
  
His wings could barely twitch in that snug space, but he managed to tilt his head back so he could touch his mama’s cheek with a hand. He squirmed around so he could reach his father and do the same to him, gently touching their faces to confirm that he really was back.  
  
“Sam an’ Dean came an’ got me,” he announced through a choked up voice full of more emotion than most children knew what to do with. “I _knew_ they were gonna come find us.”  
  
"We'd never leave ya behind," Sam swore, just as snug in a hug as the rest of them.  
  
Sam knew Dean needed this as much as the rest of them, so he didn't complain about the hand holding them pressed against the broad chest. This was the first time since their father had died that Dean had allowed himself this kind of comfort, and he didn't want to risk cutting that short. So he simply closed his eyes, giving Vel another small hug once the kid was done reassuring himself that his parents were there. They all needed it.  
  


* * *

  
Jacob moved carefully through the village as he took the other nestlings to their home trees, even though Wellwood was still quiet with two giants in the middle of it. As more and more cries of joy echoed from each porch with a returned child, more and more sprites wandered out to see, and their excited whispers were like a breeze had picked up in the village. Wings rustled with the sound of leaves by the time he knelt near one of the last homes.  
  
The young wraith sprite was eager to hop down from Jacob's huge hand and into his parents’ arms. Their own quillwings rattled as well, more like the pine needles of the very tree they now lived in. Jacob received shy nods of thanks and backed off to give them space.  
  
Rischa and Bowman were the last sprites with him.  
  
“Ready to go home?” he murmured to the girl situated near his chest. She had always been small in his hands, but after her exhausting ordeal caring for everyone, she seemed like a figurine of glass.  
  
She tilted her head back to face him with a tired grin. “Yes. Everyone is so happy now!”  
  
Jacob felt his own relief ready to bubble over, and could hardly imagine how the sprites felt. Several of them hadn't known if they'd ever see their children again.  
  
Stepping up to Bowman's home tree, he found Candara and Larxe already waiting for them. He bridged his fingers to the porch and Rischa bounded over them to join her family again. Seconds later, there was a flutter right next to Jacob's ear as Bowman hopped down from his shoulder.  
  
Much like Vel was cocooned in a protective hug only feet away with Dean, Rischa soon found herself wrapped up in an embrace so much that Jacob could hardly see her. He heard her muffled laugh and a grin came to his face.  
  
He gently brushed a thumb over one of Bowman's wings where he stood back watching. “Whatcha think?”  
  
Bowman looked up, and for once his face didn't have a trace of his usual snarky expression. “I _guess_ I'll have to ink you humans into the archives again. Maybe Sam can make you a picture if you want to see, since you and Dean are a bit _giant_ for it.”  
  
Dean reluctantly pulled his hand away from his chest to give the sprites and his brother some air, and held them up next to the porch for the home Karlis, Nia and Vel shared.  
  
Sam gave the sprites some space, glancing over at Bowman. "If there's time, could I see the archives?" He looked to Dean for confirmation and got a nod.  
  
"There's no hurry," Dean assured them. Angels, demons, and whatever the hell else was out there could wait. Castiel, Celeste and all. "I could use some lessons in camping, right?"  
  
Sam's eyebrows went up at the grudging admittance. "Right," he said with a slowly growing smile. "Jacob could give you some lessons on why you should bring more than M&Ms for rations."  
  
"I think Vel agrees with me on the M&Ms," Dean protested.  
  
Vel was in Karlis’ arms now, but he lifted his head from his shoulder. “Yeah! M an’ nems are good!” he chimed in.  
  
Karlis grinned. “You can have as much as you want, but first you and mama need some sun.”  
  
Overhearing Karlis’s comment, Jacob shrugged faintly as the small family of sprites fell into a discussion of where they'd go for their much needed sunlight. “Hey, it's not bad to have some snacks around. Just gotta be ready to find more stuff out here.” Something told him Dean wouldn't be a fan of mushrooms or the bitter wild berry options this deep in the woods.  
  
“You can show him what not to forage,” Bowman said with a smirk. “There's no … what was it … pizza to find out here.”  
  
Dean snorted. "Wanna bet?" he asked, of half a mind to order a pizza to come to the edge of the forest and bring it to the village just to prove Bowman wrong.  
  
Sam punched his hand. "Don't you think you're better off actually learning how to camp for once?" he scolded. "Might come in useful, being able to survive _away_ from fast food."  
  
Dean's smirk only grew at Sam's reaction. Things were getting back to normal for them. "Maybe." He glanced at Jacob, then back to Sam. "Anyway, I think we've earned a week or two off." He nudged Sam off his hand playfully. "Plenty of time for you to check out the village."  
  
Bowman's wings opened and he prepared to flutter to the other porch to be Sam's guide in the village. Before he did, he pointed a wing at both Jacob and Dean. “Don't you go practicing making fires too close to the village,” he warned.  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn't dream of it.”  
  
Satisfied with the answer, Bowman finally joined Sam with a fluttering hop. He indicated the spiral staircase leading down from where Vel’s home was nestled on the branch and grinned. “Ready?”  
  
Sam grinned back. "More than you know," he swore, warming up to the idea of exploring a village all his own size. Even in the motel and the burrow, it wasn't built specifically for his size, only borrowed or repurposed.  
  
He looked back at Dean once, and Dean waved him on. "Take your time."  
  
The sun broke through the leaves of the Wellwood canopy for the children to soak up with their wings, and a breeze rustled through the trees.  
  
"We've got all the time in the world."  
  
 **FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The families are reunited at last, and another job well done for the Winchesters and their friends!
> 
> Sam's gonna spend some time in Wellwood, learning about the sprites and their way of life, and Dean's going to have some necessary lessons in camping! Maybe the next time they're out in the forest (hint, hint), he'll actually be able to survive without take-out.
> 
> Season three of Brothers Apart has begun, and the Winchesters are starting to come to terms with their loss and learning about their true enemy. What more does the future hold for them? Squeaklock Holmes will continue the series at a later date, and it will be followed up by another collaborative work with @PL1 . Thank you all for coming along with us! Be sure to vote in the poll, and take a peek at Aftermath: A Series of Consulted Shorts this week when we post the next section!
> 
> **Next:** Squeaklock Holmes, posting in the future.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love, as always! We want to hear what you thought of our adventure into the dark side of g/t!

**Author's Note:**

> The third and final season of Brothers Apart has officially begun!
> 
> This story is a longer one, and you'll be seeing a lot of action for these boys! Sam and Dean are summoned back to Wellwood only to discover that their old friends are facing a crisis, where the sprite children are going missing, one by one. 
> 
> Will the boys be able to get to the bottom of the case? Will Bowman hold in the snark when he encounters Dean again? Stay tuned to find out!
> 
> ~~Possible triggers: Kidnapping of children, harsh treatment


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